That Missing Something
by XenaDragon-xoxo
Summary: On two different sides of London, Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy begin to feel a little empty. It's manageable at first, but then come odd emotions and urges and longings for something they can't find. Unable to find the piece they're missing, Harry and Draco experiment with different ways to solve their issues – but what if it's all connected? A bonding!fic. Full summary inside.
1. Chapter 1

This is a bonding!fic written for the H/D Tropes exchange. A new chapter will be uploaded every Friday/Saturday. None of the potions/books/characters/spells in this fic are original – they all exist in the Harry Potter universe.

**Summary:** On two different sides of London, living their own lives and finally experiencing peace and even some happiness, Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy begin to feel a little…empty. It's manageable at first, but after the emptiness come odd emotions striking at odd times, jeopardising work and friendships, and after odd emotions come urges and longings for something they can't find. Unable to find the piece they're missing and clueless as to what's making them this way, Harry and Draco experiment with different ways to solve their issues – but what if it's all connected?

**Warnings for this chapter: **EWE, one mention of past Harry/Ginny, a mention of past Ron/Hermione (they are just friends here).

**Disclaimer: **If I owned Harry Potter, I wouldn't be writing this, now, would I?

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That Missing Something

_Chapter 1  
_

Something was missing.

Harry couldn't quite put his finger on it, but there was no denying it. He felt empty, as if a small piece of him had been removed, and he couldn't quite figure out where it had gone, or which piece it even was. It was as if a void had settled in his very being, and was sucking up his soul, or some nonsense like that.

It wasn't as if anything was wrong with his life. He had helped rebuild Hogwarts over the past year since the Second Wizarding War, and he was currently undergoing Auror training with his best friend and partner-in-crime, Ron – he and all those who fought in the Battle of Hogwarts had been allowed to attempt careers as Aurors without going through N.E.W.T.s, although Hermione had insisted on returning to Hogwarts to complete her education. He was surrounded by incredible friends, he had played his part well for the Wizarding world, and his scar hadn't hurt in a year. By right, he should be ecstatic.

But still, something was missing, and Harry Potter couldn't quite figure it out.

Maybe it was the fact that he didn't have a significant other, but Harry wasn't really searching for one right now. He was _eighteen, _for Merlin's sake. He had plenty of time for that later on in life.

After the War, Ginny had found love in a decent wizard's arms, and frankly, Harry was happy for her. He recognized, now, that his crush on Ginny had been nothing more than that – a crush. He hadn't been significantly interested in anyone else since then, and he wasn't keen to look around too hard. He would rather kick start his career before getting tangled in any more complicated relationships.

"Harry, mate!"

Harry was awoken from his thoughts by the sound of Ron beckoning to him.

"Blimey, which dimension were you in?" he questioned. "We've got Stealth and Tracking in less than five minutes, and you still haven't finished your lunch."

Harry glanced down at his food – a plate of chicken pie – and realized that he had, indeed, only taken a few mouthfuls. He had started to lose his appetite ever since this whole "something's missing" thing started, and he wasn't certain how he felt about that yet.

"Right, sorry," Harry said quickly, wolfing a large slice down in what was probably a near-perfect, accurate impersonation of Ron. Perhaps a little _too _accurate, as Neville, sitting a little to Harry's left, gave him a disgusted look over his cup of tea. "We can go now."

Ron wrinkled his nose. "Such a waste," he noted as Harry stood up, leaving the rest of his pie behind.

Neville shook his head, an exasperated I-wonder-why-I'm-friends-with-these-people expression on his face as he paced alongside them. He didn't look too excited, Harry noticed. Neville might be fantastic at duelling now, but he was pure rubbish at anything that even remotely involved stealth. Several times, he reminded Harry a little bit of Tonks, who was missed daily.

Harry had known for a few years that he'd be an Auror. Despite what Umbridge and Luna had said, he knew it was the right job for someone with such an in-suppressible hero complex. But that was the only thing he had really known – everything else that occurred following the War was completely unexpected.

The simple fact was that things hadn't worked out exactly how most people might have planned. First of all, Ron and Hermione's relationship had been short-lived – Hermione was too focused on her studies and could barely stand Ron's peculiar habits, and Ron got annoyed with Hermione's nagging pretty quickly. They had broken it off a few months after the War, but Harry was immensely grateful to see that they had remained good friends, and had easily fallen back into their old routine of bantering without too many strings attached.

Also, Harry was no longer the Ministry's poster boy – far from it. Instead, he was considered overrated. Now that he was no longer needed, it seemed that several of the senior Ministry officials believed that his success was nothing but a stroke of dumb luck, and that despite all that he had done, he still shouldn't be allowed such easy access into Auror training. Kingsley Shacklebolt, the new Minister For Magic, didn't pay them any heed, but it still bothered Harry a little that all his services had come to naught. Sure, he was still worshipped by majority of the younger crowd, but it was the old-school officials' approval that would earn him positions and promotions.

There were many things that were different about his life and the lives of those around him –nothing was how he had envisioned it to be. Especially this odd emptiness resting inside him which he couldn't quite fill.

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He had misplaced something.

That was what it felt like to Draco – like an important piece of himself had been misplaced, lost, hidden from his sight, and he was powerless to figure out what it was. Draco wasn't unused to feeling a little out of place, but this genuinely felt as if a rather large, gaping hole was planted somewhere in his heart. He didn't like it, and worst of all, he couldn't figure out why it was there.

Draco Malfoy didn't like being powerless. Nor did he like not getting his way.

It wasn't as if he hadn't gotten his way for the past year or so. His family had escaped an Azkaban sentence due to their last-minute switch in alliance, although his father and mother were under house arrest, which was why Draco had been living alone in Muggle London for majority of the year. Draco had only been overlooked during the sentencing thanks to Potter and Longbottom's testimonies, which he had been so grateful for that he had actually gone up to them and stammered thanks. Although Longbottom looked uneasily, Potter had given him a carefully guarded smile and shaken his hand, and Draco had felt sort of forgiven, which was really all he required.

Just a few days ago, Potter had posted his old wand back to him, with a messily scrawled note taped to it:

_Was cleaning out and found this buried in a corner. Thought it'd be best for you to have it back._

_HP _

Although Draco was sure that Potter was simply trying to be a nice little Gryffindor, he had to admit that the gift had made his life a lot easier. The Hawthorn wand felt warm when he took it in his fingers for the first time, and all the charms he had difficulty doing suddenly seemed simple and effective. He had written a simple "thank you" on the back of Potter's letter and sent it back to him, as if it was no big deal and hadn't had any real impact on his life, but in truth, he was extremely grateful.

The fact was that Draco _liked _where he was now – the first time he could have truly said that. He was an apprentice at Mr. Mulpepper's Apothecary, and his employer wasn't prejudiced towards former Death Eaters and recognized his talents fairly. His Muggle apartment was cosy and not easily invaded by _Daily Prophet_ reporters, and he and his parents were on good terms, even after he had come out to them as being gay. In fact, his mother's initial reaction was to turn to grin at her husband and whisper, "I called it."

Draco wasn't sure whether to be offended or not. He had chosen to laugh it off.

The tension in the Manor had defused by a tenfold now that they didn't have a Dark Lord hanging over their heads, and it was clear how relaxed the atmosphere there was every time Draco was allowed to visit.

"The war made us realize, Draco, that we simply cannot be certain of how much time we have left to walk to earth," his father had said quietly following Draco's confessions to being gay. "All that matters is your happiness."

And with his father's blessing, there was no way Draco _wasn't _going to find his happiness. In fact, he was happier than he had been in a long time, despite being single. He had barely experienced adulthood – he didn't need anything to tie him down. Such obligations could come later on, and he was satisfied with his life now. That fact in itself was a miracle.

But if Draco was truly happy, then what was this void doing inside him?

.:*~*:._.:*~*:._.:*~*:._.:*~*:._.:*~*:.

Harry didn't feel very much like talking that night as he lazily returned to Grimmauld Place. He didn't speak to Kreacher, he didn't touch his dinner (the elf was visibly hurt by the rejection of his fine cooking, and Harry made a mental note to make sure Hermione didn't find out) and he barely slept that night.

There was no denying it now – something was missing, something was very, very wrong, and he just couldn't put his finger on it. As if he needed any more mysteries to solve in his life.

He ran through possible reasons in his head. He couldn't be missing his friends – he saw Ron and Neville almost every day, Hermione at least once a week, and Ginny and Luna reasonably often. Was he experiencing some belated tension or sadness as a result of lives lost in the war? That didn't seem likely either, as he was frankly certain he had come to a peaceful acceptance of that. Was he craving romance? A little less responsibility and more time for himself and fun?

Maybe it was just a phase, and if he ignored it long enough, this odd feeling would go away.

Yeah, maybe.

.:*~*:._.:*~*:._.:*~*:._.:*~*:._.:*~*:.

Draco hated feeling like this, hated being in this emotional state for no reason, especially after he had been through so much in the War – all he wanted was a little peace, a break from being unhappy.

Trying to figure out what was wrong with him, Draco skipped dinner and went straight to his fridge for a bottle of beer. Muggle appliances had taken a while to get used to, but now that he knew how to work them, he found the process of using them rather enjoyable.

Popping the cap, Draco took a long swig from the glass bottle. It tasted rather artificial and flat in his mouth, which was odd, because Draco usually liked this kind of beer. Annoyed with himself for acting strange, he set the bottle down on the table and tried to figure out what was wrong with him.

It couldn't be the fact that he missed his parents. He'd seen them last weekend and had Firecalled his mother a few hours ago. He had lost all of his friends, so it wasn't like he had any to miss. Or was _that _the problem? Did he long for companionship? Unfortunately, it wasn't like he could find much of that right now, nor did he really want to. Maybe some time he'd get up to socialising, when he felt up to it, which he didn't.

Lying down on his sofa, Draco draped an arm over his eyes. He hadn't completely outgrown his spoiled childhood and was easily distressed when things weren't going his way. If this odd, strange emotional void didn't go away soon, he was going to have to find a way to obtain some company.

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Harry barely had time to react as a jet of light was shot towards the glass structure he was supposed to be protecting.

"_Carpe Retractum_!" he yelled, shouting the first spell that came to mind, drawing the object towards him with whip-like force. Unfortunately, he didn't have enough time to erect a cushioning charm, and the delicate glass shattered unceremoniously in front of him.

The lights came back on in the training hall. Harry winced at the sudden onslaught of artificial light obscuring his vision, but quickly fixed up his expression as Proudfoot, one of the Auror trainers, marched up to him, looking positively livid.

"Potter!" he screeched. "How many times must I tell you, _speed is key_! How you ever became a Seeker, I have no idea. And Weasley!" Proudfoot turned sharply towards Ron. "You were supposed to have his back! You could have Conjured a cushioning charm, could you have not?"

Ron stared at his toes in defeat, and Harry bit his tongue to keep from answering back. It wasn't as if they hadn't tried their very best to defend the worthless glass statue – it was that Proudfoot and Savage were setting very unrealistic expectations. No one would ever expect two Aurors to singlehandedly deflect fifty _Reducto_s at once.

"Dumb luck might have worked for you before, Potter, but it takes more than good fortune to be an Auror," Savage snarled from a corner as he cast a _Reparo_ on the shattered glass. "Better buck up, or I'll put in some words about you to the Minister."

Harry felt a slight surge of irritation rush quickly through his nerves, but he hurriedly forced any frustration he felt down. Blowing up on his trainers wouldn't do him any good – it'd probably only get him kicked out faster.

"There's no need for threats, Savage," Proudfoot said. Harry didn't mind him as much – he might have been extremely strict, and he might have been a firm believer in the fact that Harry and his friends should have gone through the standard interviews first, but he was never unfair. Plus, he didn't always have an unrelated insult to throw at Harry. "They won't get you anywhere; the Minister's got their backs." He turned to Harry and Ron and frowned. "We're going to try that again. Remember, Potter, _speed_! And Weasley, _focus_!" He marched off, but Savage lingered for a little longer.

"The Minister won't have your backs forever, Potter, Weasley," he said warningly. "He might still be star-struck by your fame, but the few of us who choose to remain sensible aren't."

Ron grabbed onto Harry's arm a split second before Harry opened his mouth to say something he would probably regret. "Not worth it," he muttered into Harry's ear. Harry nodded mutely, taking a few moments to collect himself as the lights dimmed again. He would be really lucky if he didn't smash the stupid glass ornament on purpose this time. He'd be even luckier if he was able to resist the temptation to fling it in the general direction of Savage's face.

Then again, Harry had always been lucky – even if it was just, as Savage put it, dumb luck. Now, if only that dumb luck would apply to this strange feeling that something was missing, and make it go away.

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Flasks filled with dark yellow liquid were lined up in neat little rows all along the table, arranged meticulously with a preciseness that was really rather impressive. A single drop of perspiration dripped down the side of Draco's neck. He had been working diligently on a batch of _Chelidonium Miniscula_ all morning, and it was already nearing eleven o'clock. He smirked to himself, proud of his accomplishments. He waved his wand, ladling the newest concoction into more flasks and sending stoppers sailing into them before setting them down to join the rest on the table.

Draco paused for a moment, admiring his handiwork. He couldn't think of a better way to live. Very few were privileged enough to get paid to do something that they love.

A sudden spike of annoyance rushed through Draco's feelings of comfortable peace. He took a step back, wondering if he had been working too hard, and carefully re-pocketed his wand, thinking it was just a passing rush from exhaustion. It didn't pass, though, and he felt a steady anger pulse through him for seemingly no reason in particular.

Frantically, Draco briefly checked through all the ingredients he had used for his potion-making and double-checked his skin for spillage. There didn't seem to be any harmful substances anywhere, and if this rage wasn't potion-induced, then…

"Draco, have you finished with the _Chelidonium Miniscula_?" a voice called.

"Quite. I've spent all morning doing that," Draco said snippily, instantly regretting it. Mr. Mulpepper hadn't done anything to wrong him.

The old man stepped into the room, raising an eyebrow at him, but thankfully dismissing his insolence for the time being. "And they're all ready for shipping?"

"I presume so," Draco replied, his tone ringing rude and blunt. He winced at it, unsure what was making him so irrationally pissed off at someone who had shown him nothing but kindness all this while.

Mr. Mulpepper didn't reply, electing instead to levitate the flasks into insulated crates with his wand. After a moment, he said, "Perhaps harshness gained you several advantages in your childhood, Draco, but I would have expected you to learn by now that in the grand scheme of things, it is compassion that matters."

Draco ducked his head in semi-shame, although he still felt oddly annoyed. He opened his mouth to apologize, but found himself too frustrated to do so. What was wrong with him?

"When you're done being discourteous, do make yourself useful at the counter. I'm expecting an influx of female customers requesting Beautification Potions and Tolipan Blemish Blitzer in a few minutes," Mr. Mulpepper said briskly. "I will take over the customers after I'm done with some paperwork. I don't trust you to hold your tongue around gaggling females today. After I've returned, I'll need you to make Star Grass Salve. Oh, and while you're at it, order some more of Madame Glossy's Silver Polish – our stocks are running low."

"Yes, sir," Draco said coolly, and even he noticed that his voice was far colder than it should have been.

Mr. Mulpepper spared him one last glance, and Draco noticed that there was a tinge of concern in his gaze. Before he could be certain, however, his employer had turned and walked out of the room.

First the emptiness (which was still ever-present, by the way), and now this? Sighing, Draco put on the most sincere smile he could muster, which probably wasn't quite so sincere after all, and exited the room after Mr. Mulpepper, wondering what could possibly be happening to him.

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_A new chapter will be uploaded every Saturday.  
Reviews are awesome and greatly appreciated! :D  
_


	2. Chapter 2

Hey guys! Here's the next chapter. Hope you enjoy!

Thank you to everyone who followed and favourited! I'm sending virtual hugs your way! :D

**Warnings for this chapter: **Alcohol consumption, one night stands. Yes, Draco is currently using sex with strangers as an outlet for the emptiness, but the scenes are not detailed. I promise he will not get romantically involved with anyone except Harry in this story and it will not be a problem later. Please do not give me any flack for this - Draco practices safety and he's a grown man who can make his own decisions. ;)

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_Chapter 2_

**The Daily Prophet Mini Stories:**

_Lucius Malfoy Taken Ill_

Former Death-Eater Lucius Malfoy has been placed under the care of St Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries following a sudden Scrofungulus infection late yesterday night. It is unknown as to how the potentially fatal and extremely contagious disease managed to seep its way into the Malfoy Manor, but Healers say that there is a 50% chance of Mr. Malfoy's survival. Mr. Malfoy is currently receiving treatment at the Magical Bugs and Diseases department of St Mungo's and has been reportedly visited by his son Draco (see picture) almost immediately after admission. The young Mr. Malfoy has not left his side over the course of the past few hours. Meanwhile, Mr. Malfoy's wife Narcissa has not been granted permission to see her husband as she remains under house arrest.

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It had been a long time since Harry got the chance to sit down and have a proper breakfast with his two best friends. Thank Merlin for the weekend.

"Are you seriously having _that_ for your first meal of the day?" Hermione questioned, wrinkling her nose as Ron dug into a large plate of macaroni and cheese.

"What's so wrong with this?" Ron grumbled. "Besides, it isn't really my first meal. I had a hotdog on my way out."

Hermione muttered something that sounded oddly like "gross", and Harry hurriedly changed the subject.

"How's Hogwarts, Hermione?" he asked quickly.

"It's wonderful, though still in the process of being rebuilt. It's so _lovely_ to see all the Houses finally working together," Hermione mused, and Ron shot Harry a how-dare-you-get-her-started look. "Now if only you boys had bothered to return to actually complete your NEWTS, you'd be as impressed by the progress as I am, if not more so. I mean, there's a slight demand for professors, but otherwise everything's going along swimmingly, and –"

Suddenly, an odd feeling of absolute sadness enveloped Harry, this time even more aggressively than the emptiness he had been carrying around for the past fortnight. Appetite suddenly lost, he dropped his cutlery and balled his hands into fists.

"Harry? Harry, what's wrong?" Hermione was saying, but Harry couldn't listen to her voice without feeling a terrible, terrible depression.

And then, just like that, a tear escaped Harry's left eye.

"Woah, mate," Ron gaped, looking taken aback but awkwardly patting his arm. "We didn't know you missed Hogwarts _that_ much. We'll change the topic if you want."

"No…it…it's not that," Harry said, embarrassed when he realized that his voice was coming out in choked sobs. "I…I don't know what it is, I just…suddenly feel so…"

"Alright, there, there," Ron proceeded, still awkward as ever. "Hermione, you really didn't need to bring all of that up –"

"Ron, I don't think that's what's happening," Hermione said. "Harry, what's the matter?"

"I…I don't know," he said shakily, struggling to collect himself, but more tears were flowing. "I can't…it just…"

"That's it, I'm taking you back to Grimmauld Place," Hermione said firmly. "Ron, foot the bill, would you?"

"That's not fair!" Ron exclaimed. "_I'm_ his best mate, why should I –"

"Ronald!" Hermione snapped warningly, and Ron sighed and turned to call the waiter.

Harry was still trembling, and he felt even more empty than he had before, and he found that this particular emptiness was far more crippling.

And then, suddenly, it all disappeared.

Harry paused, straightened up, and tentatively stretched. The feeling that something was missing was still there, but the overwhelming sadness had considerably diminished.

Hermione eyed him, looking worried. "Harry?"

"I think…I'm alright now," Harry said. His voice held this time. Satisfied, he breathed in deeply and exhaled. "Yeah."

"What happened?" Ron asked, frowning.

"I don't know," Harry replied truthfully. "I just suddenly felt really, really upset."

"Over what, though?" Hermione questioned, looking thoughtful and concerned at the same time.

"It's probably just all the stress," Harry reasoned. "From Auror training and the Ministry's officials."

"Yeah," Ron agreed, seeming eager to accept the simple explanation. "Savage _has_ been giving you a really hard time."

"But Harry, you never broke down while we were on the run during the War," Hermione argued. "And I'd say there was a lot more stress involved there."

Harry shrugged. "Well, whatever it was, it was just a passing emotion. It's gone now." Finding himself hungry again, Harry picked up his cutlery and resumed the mundane task of cutting his sausage.

"But, the thing is, Harry, you've been acting a little strange for the past few weeks," Hermione pressed on, and Harry groaned.

"What do you mean by that?"

"You've been a little more detached," she elaborated. "And a lot less sarcastic."

"The second bit's not that bad, though, is it?" Ron grinned.

"Oh, come _on_, Ronald," Hermione said impatiently. "You spend majority of your waking life with him. Don't tell me you're so obtuse that you haven't noticed –"

"Alright, alright," Ron snapped. "I've noticed." When Harry shot him a betrayed look, he added quickly, "But not in the extreme way that she's suggesting. I mean, you seem to get this faraway look on your face every once in a while, and you go really quiet sometimes, but it isn't that serious!"

Harry buried his face in his hands.

"How is that not serious?" Hermione argued. "It's a significant change in character, Ron! You can't just dismiss that!"

"I'm not dismissing it, I'm just saying that he seems fine once you snap him out of it!" Ron retaliated. "Right, Harry?"

Before Harry could reply, Hermione was talking again. "But you don't know what's going on in his head _before_ you snap –"

"Guys!" Harry said loudly, causing both of them to stop. "I really appreciate the concern, but _I'm fine_. If anything was wrong, I'd tell you."

Ron nodded. "That's alright, mate. We trust you."

Harry smiled and went back to his breakfast, but he could feel Hermione's analytical eyes watching his every move. In fact, if he paid attention, he could almost hear the gears whirring in that brilliant mind.

If only Harry didn't feel like he was lying to them. Maybe then it'd take some of the guilt away.

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It was about ten o'clock at night when Harry felt the same depression swooping in over him again, and this time a lot stronger than earlier.

Don't get me wrong – Harry had felt plenty of sadness before, courtesy of being an orphan and losing friends during the entire span of his life at Hogwarts. But it had never been like this, never as if he had lost such a huge part of him. Actually, if he thought about it, it didn't feel like he had lost anything – it felt as if something was being taken away from him, and he was just watching, powerless to stop it. It didn't feel too good.

Harry muttered an _Accio_ and a bottle of Blishen's Firewhisky (possibly given to him by Mrs Weasley or someone similar, for Harry never bothered picking out fine alcohol, usually opting for something simple, inexpensive and not of good quality like Schletters Fine Whisky) zoomed out of some dark, dusty corner of the pantry and came to a halt in front of him before landing smoothly on the table. Reaching for a glass, Harry opened the bottle with a flick of his wand and poured out a generous amount. Tilting his head back, he downed the entire glass in one gulp.

Harry didn't usually drink, but he needed to find a way to drown his unwanted, unprovoked sorrows. The beverage burned his throat pleasantly, sending a warm rush down his chest to rest in the pit of his stomach. Briefly, the misery faded and Harry basked in the newfound heat, but all too soon, the sensation was gone. Disappointed, Harry refilled his glass and took another long drag from it, once more draining it of its contents in a single motion. The warmth seemed to last a split second shorter this time, and a frustrated Harry sloshed a larger amount messily into the glass.

It wasn't long before Harry simply drank straight from the bottle, too far gone to really know what he was doing. But that was alright – he wouldn't remember any of it in the morning, and maybe, just maybe, the sadness and emptiness would be gone.

.:*~*:._.:*~*:._.:*~*:._.:*~*:._.:*~*:.

Draco dragged his feet out of the hospital at ten o'clock that night. He was emotionally and physically exhausted, and it didn't help that he still felt horribly, unbearably empty.

Thankfully, the few reporters who had been waiting for an appearance of either Malfoy had left, leaving Draco to walk the white-walled, monotonous halls without being stopped or feeling the need to hex someone. The nurse at the counter wished him a good night which he did not return – it was too late to have one. He exited the building and Apparated to a discrete alleyway he always used in Muggle London, then began to walk home – perhaps a bit of exercise would clear his mind.

Frankly, Draco was sick and tired of this emptiness. As childish as it sounded, he desperately wanted it to go away. He had already narrowed it down to lack of companionship – perhaps he should find some of that. Changing his mind about going home, he made a detour and took a left turn, walking down gradually darkening streets until he reached one so dark he couldn't even see his hands swinging beside him. Locating a narrow road he recognized, he took it and paced down it until he saw bright lights shining ahead of him in bright colours.

Not many were aware of the gay community's go-to bars and clubs, and most would be horrified by how easy it would be to chance upon them when exploring this side of London. It wouldn't be much of an issue then, though, as majority of the businesses here only opened after dark, and it wasn't so easily accessible at this time due to the badly-lit streets leading there. Draco had only been here thrice so far, and only to grab a drink and watch the crowd – never to hook up or even dance. This time, though, he had other ideas.

Draco knew he was reasonably attractive – he had outgrown most of the pointy features he'd had in his youth, and he was pleasantly slim with enough muscle so give his body an appealing form. He had been hit on several times when at the bars here and had almost never had to pay for his own drink, although he'd never let anyone take him home. It wouldn't be too difficult finding some bloke he was attracted to, right?

The task seemed harder than expected as Draco strode into the first club he saw. He walked right up to the bar and sat down, waiting for someone to pick him up. The first person who bought him a drink was blond, overly muscular and especially arrogant – that didn't really do it for Draco, and it would be a little embarrassing not being able to get it up, so he turned the man down. The second man was clearly a top – Draco didn't bottom for anyone. The third was far too pushy, and would probably become too attached to Draco, who wanted nothing more than a simple one-night-stand. By the fourth, a balding, large man in his forties (Draco felt repulsed by even entertaining the notion of sleeping with him), he decided that waiting for someone to come to him wasn't going to help. He had to actively search.

Draco glanced around the bar and saw an unconventionally handsome brunet sitting a few seats away. He walked up to him, unsure how to begin. "Hi," he said awkwardly.

The brunet looked up at him and babbled something in Spanish.

Draco groaned – this wasn't really working out. Sighing, he decided that perhaps loosening himself up on the dance floor would take his mind off of his father and the emptiness. He shimmied his way through the crowd, found a spot with enough leg room, and slowly swayed his hips to the rhythm. Like most Purebloods, Draco had been taught how to properly dance by the age of five, and this act of dancing without rules felt liberating. Besides, he knew he looked good doing this – years of practice for and at parties organised by his parents had been good for him.

Draco ignored all those who came up to gyrate against him – even when they rubbed their arses down on his cock, he couldn't get hard, and that would probably translate to the bed later on, and he wouldn't wound his pride that way. Instead, he danced on his own, roughly turning away from anyone who expressed interest in him. Perhaps it wasn't companionship he craved, but power; the rush of having authority when rejecting interested men. He wasn't sure.

He was halfway through the second song when someone finally, _finally_ caught his eye. It was another brunet (Draco had never noticed this preference of his before), well-built and lightly tanned, who moved with more of a learned skill than a natural suavity. Oddly, this infatuated and attracted Draco more than the talented movements of the good-looking man lavishing attention on him now. Pulling away from the latter, he moved towards the brunet and stepped in front of him, then began to dance even more smoothly, rocking his hips against him.

The brunet glanced up at him, and Draco registered dilated pupils, surrounded by a thin line that was somewhere between blue and green. Somehow, the sight managed to turn Draco on, and he pushed himself against his new conquest. The brunet shuddered, canting his groin against Draco's, and Draco smirked in a way he knew this man would find sexy.

"What's your name?" Draco whispered huskily into his right ear.

The answer was a garbled moan.

Draco pretended he understood. "My name's Draco," he said quietly.

Another moan, and Draco felt an odd twinge of annoyance. Somehow, this unnamed person's compliancy bothered him, but he couldn't tell why. But beggars couldn't be choosers, and Draco slowly steered the tipsy man towards slightly more private grounds.

Not more than ten minutes later, Draco's back was pressed against the cold blue wall of a bathroom stall, his cock engulfed by the brunet's mouth. The feeling was exhilarating, and it distracted him from the ever-present feeling that something was missing. But as soon as he came, shooting down the brunet's throat, the emptiness returned, twice as sharp and three times as obvious.

Draco was expected to reciprocate – he had even been given a lecture when his parents gave him 'the talk' about never leaving his partner dissatisfied – but suddenly felt that he couldn't do it. Instead, he discreetly drew his wand, muttered an _Obliviate_, and left the restroom before the man could even realized what hit him. It was a good thing that tracking charms had been made illegal after Minister Shacklebolt came into power, otherwise Draco would have been carted off to Azkaban for performing magic in front of a Muggle. Even if it hadn't been legal, Draco wouldn't have cared, because at the moment, he was too riddled by a strange sense of guilt.

Draco left the club immediately, suddenly feeling filthy and ashamed, and even more hollow than he had before.

.:*~*:._.:*~*:._.:*~*:._.:*~*:._.:*~*:.

When Harry woke up the next morning, he knew for a fact that he was late for training. Firstly, the sun was already shining (which it wouldn't be doing if it was the ungodly hour that was six o'clock, which is the time Harry usually had to get up), and secondly, he could hear Ron's voice at the door, yelling something incoherent, which Ron wouldn't have done unless he was worried about Harry, who never missed a day at the Ministry.

Harry sat up, groaning. His head was spinning and everything seemed a little too bright, plus the steady rapping on his door coupled with Ron's shouts seemed to be loud enough to make his eardrums explode.

"Harry? Harry! I know you're in there, open up the bloody door!" Ron was saying. "Savage is pissed beyond belief; he's going to eviscerate you if you don't get your arse out of this house –"

Harry ignored him, even as Kreacher appeared beside him holding a hangover remedy. "Is Master Potter wishing Kreacher to let Mister Weasley in?"

"No," Harry replied, and he didn't know why he said it – usually, he would've confided in his best mate, but right now, he really didn't want to have to deal with him. He gulped down what Kreacher had prepared for him, and most of the spinning sensations he was experiencing disappeared, and the throbbing in his head diminished. Now that he could think properly, Harry stood up and glanced around. The bottle of Blishen's Firewhiskey he only vaguely remembered consuming lay on its side in the centre of the living room floor, a part of its neck chipped off in a jagged sort of triangle. Nonverbally calling his wand to him, he waited till it entered his grasp before waving it over the mess, effectively Vanishing the bottle and its fragments.

"Harry! For fuck's sake," Ron swore outside. "Kreacher, I know you're there, and you'd better open this door..."

"_Stains of dishonour, filthy half-breeds, blood traitors, children of filth_!" yelled the portrait of Mrs Black downstairs. Harry groaned, holding his still slightly sore head in his hands.

"Kreacher is given direct orders not to open door while Master Potter is being away," Kreacher shouted over the screaming.

"Away? Where is he?" Ron shouted back.

"Kreacher cannot be speaking to Mister Weasley now. Goodbye!" There was the sound of a struggle, then silence as Kreacher successfully yanked the curtains back over the picture.

Harry felt a twinge of guilt for pushing Ron away, as it was something he didn't usually do, but he decided that at the moment, it was for the best. Shrugging off the clothes he had fallen asleep in, he cast a quick cleaning charm over himself, hoping it would suffice in place of a bath, and pulled on a fresh set of robes. After quickly glancing at himself in the mirror and deeming himself acceptable while thanking Merlin for specialised wards that allowed all trainees and trainers through, he Apparated to the training centre.

He arrived at the front of the hall just as Proudfoot rounded a corner and came into his view. He looked very cross, but not nearly as furious as Harry had imagined him being.

"Mr. Potter!" he snapped, as soon as he laid his eyes on Harry. "You are more than three hours late! Have you anything to say for yourself?"

"No, sir. I'm sorry." Harry tried to sound as meek as possible, in hopes that Proudfoot wouldn't allow Savage to tear him limb from limb.

"What? No half-arsed excuses?" he questioned, arching an eyebrow.

"Not very good ones," Harry admitted. "I overslept."

"Over – oh Godric," Proudfoot muttered, burying his face in his right hand. "Well, hurry along then. You've got some practical tests in an hour, and if you don't want Savage to flunk you, you had better get your scrawny arse to training room seven. Now!"

Harry nodded hastily and sprinted down the corridor before making a sharp turn, knocking smartly on the correct door, and exhaling with relief when noting that the trainer for this room wasn't one of the stricter ones – he was allowed to take a seat without having to hear a lecture first.

Ron arrived at the same room a minute later, and as soon as he saw Harry, he glared daggers at him.

"I was at Grimmauld Place a few minutes ago," he said under his breath, sounding cross. "Why didn't you answer the door?"

"Sorry, must have missed you," Harry whispered back, and immediately found himself unable to meet Ron's eyes. Luckily, Ron seemed to buy it, and sank into the chair next to him with a huff of dissatisfaction.

Harry closed his eyes, allowing the trainer's voice to lull him into a slightly relaxed state, but deep down, he was worried. Why was he allowing the emptiness to slowly consume him? And what if it turned him into someone he didn't recognize?

.:*~*:._.:*~*:._.:*~*:._.:*~*:._.:*~*:.

As soon as night fell and the shop was closed up, Draco found himself walking back to the club he had visited the previous night. It had been a rather horrible day, what with all the potions that had to be made and the customers who had to be dealt with, and it didn't help that he was feeling terribly guilty for being snappish with Mr. Mulpepper.

Draco was sick and tired of this emptiness. He was going to have to try a little harder to get rid of it if he wanted to get back to a normal life. Well, as normal as his would ever be.

The pulsing, hard beats emanated for the club, as if enticing him to his fate. He would not be picky tonight – perhaps that was the trouble, he was putting too much effort into finding the right person, when in the end it would amount to nothing but a one night stand. Yes, he wouldn't try so hard tonight. And he wouldn't take advantage of a drunk, either – he assumed that his guilt from the previous night had been about taking advantage of someone possibly underage and rather intoxicated.

He pushed past the crowd of people intertwined in twos and threes at the entrance of the club. Lights flashed from the ceiling in a pattern he hadn't noticed the day before. Did they change it, or had he simply not been paying attention?

There was a boy at the bar who looked just about Draco's age. Draco could see bright blue eyes shining under a mop of neatly combed black hair. He wasn't too bad-looking, and he didn't seem totally under the influence yet.

Putting on his confident stance, Draco walked over to him and leaned his elbow against the bar right next to his conquest. "Hi," he drawled.

The boy glanced up at him, gave him the classic once-over with his eyes, and smiled cockily. "Hi."

Draco felt a small twitch of irritation at the boy's arrogance, but he quickly realised that thinking that way made him a bit of a hypocrite, so he went with it. He gestured to the half-empty glass in the boy's hand. "What you drinking?"

"Just a scotch," the boy replied.

"Fancy another?"

"Sure, why not?"

Draco signalled the bartender, and then turned his attention back to the boy. He wasn't conventionally handsome, but Draco wasn't being picky. Besides, he already preferred this kid to half the others lingering around the area.

It didn't take much for Draco to convince the boy to come home with him, but seeing as the boy lived less than two blocks away, they'd go to his place instead. His name was Dean or Dan or something like that – Draco didn't really care to remember – and he claimed to be twenty-one years old. Draco knew better. He attempted to make conversation with this boy as they clambered into a taxi, but he seemed to lack the intelligence necessary to discuss anything of value. Draco didn't mind – he would rather focus on Don (or whatever his name was) and his useless prattling than think about why he was doing this.

Somewhere halfway through the ride, Draco felt a hand creep up his thigh. He threw a smirk at the person sitting next to him, even though this whole affair felt oddly wrong, and allowed himself to be pulled forwards as his neck was attacked with open-mouthed kisses. His soon-to-be lover was experienced, and Draco felt his arousal awaken as he was palmed through his trousers, but there was nagging in the back of Draco's head that prevented him from fully focusing.

When the cab pulled up, Draco didn't even have enough time to finish paying for the fare before he was pulled up the steps of a shabby-looking terrace house and shoved inside and against the wall. Quick work was made of shirts and pants, and before he knew it, he was naked, and so was his partner, who led him messily to the bedroom. Draco hastily took control, pushing his partner down onto the bed. It was hot and messy and there were no loving kisses or attentions left on either person – it was just sex, nothing more than the night's fuck for both of them.

"Condoms," Draco muttered urgently, and the boy gestured towards the bedside table. Draco fumbled for the handle on the drawers and found a bottle of lube first. After a bit of rummaging, Draco managed to find a gold packet. He ripped off the top with his teeth and tugged it on, then slicked himself hurriedly. His partner was already preparing himself, stretching himself with his fingers and half-smiling at Draco in a way he guessed was supposed to be seductive. Draco didn't find it as attractive as it probably was.

Within minutes, Draco was pushing into his partner, and quiet grunts filled the air. Hot tightness enveloped him and Draco bit his lip, allowing his body to be consumed by an ashamed pleasure. Draco wasn't by any means inexperienced, but it still took him a slight while to find his partner's prostate. When he finally did, the boy practically screamed and clutched at Draco's back, dragging his nails across it. Draco found this more painful than pleasurable. His partner was loud and let out exaggerated moans at certain moments that made Draco wonder if he was faking it. Still, Draco must have been doing something right, because after a short while, when he grabbed his member and pumped it in time with his steadily quickening thrusts, the boy arched and came with a shout. Draco followed a minute later, pulling out and shooting his come over the boy's stomach with a cry of ecstasy before collapsing a good distance away from him.

They lay there for a moment, and Draco felt uncomfortable as the sticky mess began to dry on his skin. The boy lay on the next pillow, his eyes closed, looking sated and untroubled. Draco, on the other hand, having come down from his high, felt himself become suddenly consumed by regret.

Draco waited until his partner's breathing evened out, indicating his slumber, then got up and dressed himself slowly, applying several cleaning charms that only reddened his skin but didn't do anything to make him feel any filthy. He left the boy sleeping and exited the house, then started on the long walk home.

* * *

_A new chapter will be uploaded next Friday or Saturday.  
_

_Reviews (good and bad) are appreciated and give me fluffy feelings! :D_


	3. Chapter 3

_Chapter 3_

For the next few days, Harry was constantly awoken early in the morning by an alarm charm which he had taken to setting every night. It had become a sort of routine – he'd wake up, take a hangover remedy, and clear cracked bottles of Swott Malt Whisky (which he discovered lots of in his pantry, probably plundered by Kreacher) from the floor. He wasn't late for training again, which was a relief, but he was learning more slowly and performing a lot more poorly than before. Harry knew he was in danger of being sacked, but he'd much rather be able to sleep the night without feeling the emptiness. If alcohol helped him, he'd just have to deal with it.

It was on a Sunday at breakfast with his mates that Harry finally decided that this wasn't a very good idea. He was exhausted, and Hermione had commented several times on his appearance while Ron eyed him suspiciously.

"I think it could be stress," Harry reasoned.

"You look a little depressed, mate," Ron said. "You sure it's just that?"

"Maybe I need a Cheering Charm," Harry muttered.

"A charm isn't going to produce a good enough effect," Hermione said. "There are potions to help with this kind of thing. The Draught of Peace, for example. I'm sure there are apothecaries that carry it."

"Maybe," Harry sighed.

"She's right, you know," Ron cut in, causing Hermione to give him a beam – Harry rolled his eyes at this. Ron always sided with Hermione to get himself out of possible lectures. "It might help. There are some pretty good apothecaries in Diagon Alley. It's worth a shot, eh?"

Harry figured there was no harm in trying. After all, he was getting desperate, and he didn't want an alcohol addiction. So after footing the bill despite his friends' protests, Harry Apparated to Wizarding London.

Diagon Alley was rather crowded despite the early hour. Witches were bustling about Madam Malkin's and Twilfitt and Tatting's – perhaps some sort of sale was going on – and he could see a swarm of people in Wiseacre's Wizarding Equipment. He trod the streets silently, permitting a few wizards to stare at him in star-struck recognition and attempting to smile back, but mostly failing. He shrugged his way through the flurry of magical folk until he came upon Slug & Jiggers Apothecary. He walked up to the door and pushed his way inside, only to be greeted by the familiar stench of bad eggs and rotten cabbage. Harry had been buying his items here as long as he could remember.

"Draught of Peace?" the man behind the counter said, stroking his moustache. "I'm afraid I haven't got any in stock."

"Can't you make any?" Harry asked.

"I would, but I'm out of powdered unicorn horn and I haven't got enough syrup of hellebore," the man replied. "Sorry."

Harry thanked him and left. He was about to call it a day when he noticed the shop right next to Slug and Jiggers. The sign read Mr. Mulpepper's Apothecary. He had never been in it before, mostly because he hadn't needed to, but he figured he might as well give it a shot.

Harry pushed open the door and a soft bell chimed throughout the shop. It was empty apart from an old, white-haired man who Harry guessed was Mr. Mulpepper, and a man standing in another room which had its door wide open with his back facing Harry, probably a shop assistant, rearranging something on the shelves lined up against the wall there. Harry felt an odd sense of familiarity towards the person's stance, but couldn't quite place it. The man had neat blond hair that was perfectly combed in a way that Harry's could never possibly achieve, and he was wearing Muggle clothing, which was odd for a person working in Diagon Alley – a pair of dark fitting jeans and a black jacket. He had a slim frame but Harry could see tension in the man's shoulder and back muscles as he moved.

"Excuse me," Harry said quietly, walking up to Mr. Mulpepper. "I'm here to ask if you've got the Draught of Peace in stock."

"Yes, we do," Mr. Mulpepper replied. "May I ask, though, what it's for?"

"I've been rather stressed out lately," Harry muttered, for some reason feeling the need to keep his voice down. "My friends think it might do me some good."

"The Draught of Peace," Mr. Mulpepper began, "is a rather dangerous potion to meddle with. Too high a dosage might knock you out completely. If you don't mind, I usually ask my customers a few questions first when they request more complex remedies, so as to better understand what they are experiencing. It helps me to recommend the best potion for their needs, as well as the required dosage. If you would please have a seat – you seem quite morose and agitated."

"I am," Harry agreed, sitting down on a stool in front of the counter. And indeed, he was – it was the perfect way to describe his current state, both depressed and frustrated, as though he needed something desperately but couldn't find it.

"Some tea, perhaps? It might calm your frazzled nerves."

"No, thank you."

"Very well." Mr. Mulpepper stood opposite him and picked up a quill and parchment. "When did you start experiencing these symptoms?"

"About three weeks ago," Harry replied, unable to remember the exact date.

Mr. Mulpepper glanced up at him curiously, looking startled by something, but didn't say anything to explain his expression. Perhaps he had just noticed who Harry was – the Golden Boy and all that rubbish. Harry hoped he hadn't. He didn't want any special treatment today. "Could you describe for me the type of emotions you have been experiencing?"

"Err..." Harry didn't feel like mentioning the emptiness, but he couldn't find a way out of it, because that was mainly what he felt. "As if something's missing."

"I see." Mr. Mulpepper was taking notes. "And this is not related to any losses in your life at the moment?"

"No," Harry replied.

"Do you feel saddened or frustrated by this feeling? How are you dealing with it?"

"I just want to solve the problem," Harry admitted. "And I've been...err...drinking a little."

"I see," Mr. Mulpepper said again. He was frowning, as if deep in thought, and scribbling hurriedly on his parchment. "Is there anything else apart from the missing something?"

"No," Harry said, then paused. "Well, yes, actually. There was this moment when I felt unreasonably depressed."

"Depressed?" Mr. Mulpepper appeared to make a note along the sides of the parchment. "How so? Was it a flashback of past troubles?"

"The thing is, I haven't felt it that way before," Harry replied. "I've lost friends, you know, in the War, and I've had to watch some people die. But this is different – it's on a different plane altogether."

"And when did this happen?"

"Probably exactly a week ago, give or take a day."

Mr. Mulpepper suddenly stopped writing and glanced up at Harry, a look of extreme confusion but also brilliant enlightenment on his face. "You are Harry Potter, am I right?"

Harry groaned. "Yes, but please –"

"That means you wouldn't know how it felt like to begin to lose a parent."

Harry stopped mid-sentence, taken aback by the sudden assumption. "Well, no, I suppose not, but I don't see –"

"Tell me, Mr. Potter," the Potioneer said, his voice now clearly betraying interest. "Did you experience any infuriating encounters within the first week of these symptoms?"

Harry wracked his brains. "Umm...yes, I did. I had some trouble finishing a course at Auror training, and one of my trainers was being unfair." He frowned, mulling over it. "Why is that of importance?"

Mr. Mulpepper looked over his shoulder, through the open door, where his shop assistant was waving his wand over a brewing cauldron. Harry followed his gaze, and found himself minutely infatuated by the grace with which the assistant moved.

Mr. Mulpepper opened his mouth and called, "Draco."

Harry froze at the familiar name, and all of a sudden the recognition he experienced earlier fell into place. The shop assistant turned around at the sound of his name, re-pocketing his wand in a fluid motion, and his light grey eyes instantly fell upon Harry. He did not react openly, but his widening eyes clearly showed his surprise.

"Potter," Malfoy said, perhaps before he could stop himself.

Harry stood up, his body instantly tensing up as he sensed hostility rolling off of Malfoy in waves. "Malfoy," he replied stiffly. He watched carefully, expecting Malfoy to advance towards him like before in Hogwarts, but he didn't move, instead eyeing Harry with narrowed eyes that were not suspicious, but were certainly not trusting. Harry took the opportunity to survey him. Malfoy had rather outgrown his pointy features, and his hair framed his face rather nicely, making it look softer, and the clothes he wore now seemed cheap, but definitely fit him well. The man had changed – the arrogance that Harry always associated him with seemed to have faded, and the usually challenging gaze seemed tired and as empty as Harry felt. But there were similarities as well – said eyes were still the blue-grey of silvery slate, and his features were still pale and slim like the rest of him, and Harry could see from the stance he held that Malfoy was still very much a proud git. For some reason, Harry found comfort in the fact that not everything had been altered.

"I see you two know each other," Mr. Mulpepper said pleasantly, as though oblivious to the tension in the air.

"We both went to Hogwarts," Harry offered politely.

"Ah, that would make sense," Mr. Mulpepper responded.

"You called me, sir?" Malfoy asked, now pointedly ignoring Harry.

"Yes. I need to go to my office to cross-reference these symptoms, as I'm not quite familiar with them," stated Mr. Mulpepper. "You wouldn't mind keeping Mr. Potter company, would you?"

Harry suddenly felt as if he was a victim of another experiment, like one of Dumbledore's or Hermione's – one of a wiser and more intelligent being who had a theory that required testing. He wasn't sure how he felt about this.

"Certainly not, sir," replied Malfoy through slightly gritted teeth.

"Excellent!" Mr. Mulpepper excused himself and disappeared through another side door. Malfoy paced carefully up to the counter and stood in his employer's place.

A few moments uncomfortable silence stretched out between them, but Harry felt some of the emptiness within him somehow...ebb away. He supposed it was due to a familiar routine he remembered from the time when he was still relatively innocent. He noted that some of the tension in Malfoy's shoulders had worn off as well (he had learned to track these signs in Auror training as some point or other, but he wasn't very good at observations).

"How've you been?" Harry finally asked.

Malfoy snorted. "Save me the pleasantries, Potter," he said. "We both know you don't quite care."

"There's nothing wrong with asking how someone's doing," Harry replied.

"If you're inquiring after my well-being, you should be genuinely concerned about it," Malfoy shot back. "Don't ask questions you don't care to know the answers for."

Harry stopped himself from hissing in frustration. Surprisingly, this irritation wasn't like the type he had been experiencing all week. It felt more like him and less like an empty shell's attempt at feeling human. Maybe he needed to fall back into old routines more often.

"Fine," snapped Harry. "How long have you been working here?"

"Save me the interrogation."

"Look, it's a question I'd like to know the answer to, isn't it?" Harry sighed. "Just answer it. It's not going to kill you."

Malfoy shrugged. "Very well. Clearly you're still as stubborn as ever." He smirked, then said, "Since my name was cleared. Mr. Mulpepper was the only employer I could find who would take me in."

Harry nodded as sympathetically as he could, although he couldn't possibly fully understand Malfoy's situation, having never been in one similar to it. He could only imagine what Malfoy was going through. "How've you been?" he asked again.

Malfoy sighed. "Haven't we already been over this?"

"But now I do want to know the answer," Harry replied truthfully.

There was a brief silence, then Malfoy turned away, busying himself with rearranging a stack of papers on the corner of the desk. "I'm alright. Been better," he said, and Harry never thought he'd see the day when Malfoy acted awkward about something as simple as answering a question.

Harry slowly sat back down again and realized that the emptiness had drained out considerably. He mulled over this odd fact – perhaps a potion's shop had calming effects all on its own. He noticed that Malfoy, too, was a lot less tense than when he first saw him from behind in the other room.

Before Harry felt too pressured to think of something else to say, Mr. Mulpepper came back to the room. He glanced quickly between Harry and Malfoy, added a footnote to his parchment, and then smiled at Harry. "I'm afraid I can't find an exact condition matching the symptoms you've been describing. However, I _can_ offer you a Draught of Peace." He handed Harry a bottle of turquoise liquid. "Do not exceed the dosage I've listed on the side." He rattled off a price, and Harry paid him. Mr. Mulpepper turned to Malfoy. "Draco, take the gentleman's name and address, would you?"

Malfoy sighed and removed a notebook from his back pocket, a Muggle pen in hand.

"Harry Potter, Number 12, Grimmauld Place, London," Harry said without waiting for Malfoy to ask.

Malfoy took it down and nodded politely at Harry, who waved half-heartedly at both Mr. Mulpepper and Malfoy. "Thanks," he said, smiling briefly, thinking he had the solution in hand.

However, as soon as Harry had left Wizarding London, he felt the emptiness slowly creep back up on him, and he wasn't really sure why.

.:*~*:._.:*~*:._.:*~*:._.:*~*:._.:*~*:.

Two days later, Draco still hadn't quite gotten over the shock of seeing _Harry bloody Potter_ in the shop he worked at. He also couldn't understand why for the past couple of days, he had felt even worse than previously – as if the thing he was missing was even farther away from him than before.

Mr. Mulpepper entered the storage room where Draco was taking stock. Draco turned to greet him and saw that his employer was grasping two cups of strong tea in his hands.

"What's the matter?" Draco asked, accepting the cup that was held out to him.

"I'd like to ask you about something," Mr. Mulpepper replied. "If you'd have a seat, please?"

Draco sat on one of the boxes upturned on the floor, and Mr. Mulpepper sat opposite him. "You're concerning me," Draco said truthfully. Mr. Mulpepper had never before attempted to talk to him about anything more important than store affairs, never questioning Draco's past and conveying his understanding and/or worries by means of gestures.

"It's simply that you've been acting rather...odd for the past few weeks," Mr. Mulpepper replied. "I'd like to make sure that everything is alright with you."

"It's been as good as it'll ever be," Draco stated stiffly. He didn't want to discuss his issues now. He set his cup down – the tea was stronger than he liked it.

"Are you sure? You aren't feeling as if you're...missing something?"

Draco's gaze snapped up sharply to meet Mr. Mulpepper's. "Pardon?" he demanded.

Mr. Mulpepper nodded to himself. "Ah...I thought so."

"What is this about?" Draco questioned, frowning, his hands slowly clenching into fists.

Mr. Mulpepper, too, set his tea down on the floor. "Yesterday, when Mr. Potter came in to order a Draught of Peace, I performed my usual series of questions," he began, and Draco's eyebrows rose as he wondered what this had to do with anything. "He told me that he had been feeling as if something was missing, associating it with stress, you understand. He began feeling this way around the same time as I began to notice some changes in you."

"And you just assume that we are suffering the same thing off of one coincidental –"

"Patience, Draco," Mr. Mulpepper rebuked, and Draco fell silent obediently. "He also admitted to experiencing depression almost exactly a week before, a kind of sadness that he could not attribute to previous experiences, and we both know he has been through his share of loss. The day he referenced was also the day your father was admitted to the hospital – and he has never had a parent to fear losing, so he cannot possibly fathom what that feels like."

Draco frowned. "No, I suppose not, but –"

"And also," went on Mr. Mulpepper, as though he hadn't heard him. "Do you remember the day you snapped at me about the _Chelidonium Miniscula_ (which was very much unlike you)? That was most likely the same day Mr. Potter was frustrated for making a few mistakes during Auror training."

"Sir, what are insinuating?" Draco finally cut in.

"That it's all _connected_, my boy," Mr. Mulpepper smiled. "You are both experiencing symptoms of the same illness."

"Illness? Hang on a minute, I'm in perfect health," Draco said, as politely as he could. "I'm sure there are other explanations –"

"It's too much of a coincidence for that," Mr. Mulpepper interrupted. "If you have any interest in curing yourself, you may want to take this up with Mr. Potter himself."

"I'm sorry, sir, but I simply don't believe in your theory," Draco said sharply, still maintaining his respect for his boss, but also stating his firm denial. He stood up. "I have to order more ingredients, sir. Excuse me."

Draco heard Mr. Mulpepper sigh as he left the room, but he tried not to put too much concern into it. For all he knew, Mr. Mulpepper was making wild guesses. He could not possibly have anything to do with Potter at this point. That simply wouldn't do.

* * *

_A new chapter will be uploaded next Friday or Saturday._

_Reviews are very much appreciated (please?)! :D_


	4. Chapter 4

_Chapter 4  
_

Harry found that the Draught hadn't helped much. It worked for about half an hour before the emptiness grew steadily stronger and completely erased the potion's effects.

It had been a week since his visit to the apothecary, and already the bottle was almost empty. While he hadn't exceeded the recommended dose, he had also taken as much as possible without overdosing – which left him with a quarter of the small bottle left.

It wasn't good that Harry was distracted. He and Ron were supposed to go out on the field when the next case came up, and Harry found himself completely on edge and had gotten himself into several more awkward situations when his emotions skyrocketed out of control for no reason. He found himself feeling sadness, anger and joy that was not his own, but he couldn't think where it could have come from.

Harry was awoken from his thoughts by a hoot and a tap on the window of Grimmauld Place. Sighing, he walked over to the glass pane and tugged it open, allowing a rather large, old owl that reminded him slightly of Errol, but with a better sense of direction, to fly in and perch itself neatly on the arm of his sofa. It held its leg out politely, and Harry untied the letter attached to it. The owl took off right away, scattering a few stray feathers across the floor which Harry didn't bother to clean up. Instead, he turned the letter over in his hands – it was nothing more than a folded piece of paper.

_Dear Mr. Potter,_

_Please come to my shop immediately. There are some things I wish to discuss with you regarding the symptoms you've been facing._

_Regards,_

_Mr. Mulpepper _

Harry stared at the writing for a moment. It was obviously hurried, but had a certain old-fashioned perfection to it that his own writing could never achieve. Even so, he could tell that this was an urgent matter.

Although he hadn't felt much like going out, Harry knew that he wanted a cure to...whatever this was, and he was desperate enough to pull on a cloak and Apparate to Diagon Alley.

.:*~*:._.:*~*:._.:*~*:._.:*~*:._.:*~*:.

Harry stepped into the Apothecary. The familiar whiff of potion ingredients in the air felt slightly comforting, but he didn't experience the same emotional relief he remembered feeling last time. He glanced around the room, searching for a sign of Malfoy, and was too absorbed in looking for him that he almost didn't notice Mr. Mulpepper walking in.

"Mr. Potter," he said with a smile.

Harry nodded courteously. A few heads turned – the shop had its fair share of customers today, he noticed. Ducking to hide his face, Harry asked, "You had something to speak to me about?"

"Yes, that's right," Mr. Mulpepper stated. "Come right this way, and we can discuss this in a more private manner."

Harry followed the old man through the side door – the same one he had first seen Malfoy through a week or so ago – and found himself in an immaculate storage room for ingredients. Each shelf was organized in glass containers, each one labelled with a single piece of white parchment with green ink printed onto it and tied around the covers. Harry could have spent all day looking through them.

"This was Draco's idea," Mr. Mulpepper said, noting the way Harry was staring. "But this is hardly a suitable place for a chat." He led Harry further in towards the back of the shop, finally stopping at a large wooden door. "My office," he smiled, and motioned for Harry to enter. Harry grasped the knob and pulled, and the door gave way with a heavy creak.

It was a respectable enough office, Harry decided. The traditional filing cabinets, a few frames hung on the walls, and a large table right in the centre of the room littered with papers and stationery. But there was one fixture in the room that Harry wasn't certain he really wanted to see.

Seated in a chair in front of the table was Malfoy.

Malfoy stood up and turned around as the door opened, casting a nonchalant glance at Harry before turning to Mr. Mulpepper. "Sir, what's the meaning of this?"

"I believe I know what's been bothering the pair of you," Mr. Mulpepper said. "Please, take a seat."

Malfoy's expression remained calm, but he balled his hands into fists and remained standing. Harry, likewise, held his ground, wondering what Mr. Mulpepper meant by _the pair of them._

Mr. Mulpepper sighed. "When are you two going to start acting like grown-ups?" he griped. "Sit down, both of you."

Harry didn't move, knowing that the tie Malfoy had to Mr. Mulpepper as an employee would compel him to obey first. Malfoy's jaw clenched almost imperceptibly, and he waited only one more moment before lowering himself back into his seat, never taking his watchful gaze off of Harry. Satisfied that he had won this round, Harry took the only available chair left right next to Malfoy. Mr. Mulpepper acted oblivious to their brief ego clash and sat down behind his desk, smiling once more.

"Now, before I can properly diagnose either of you, I'm going to need to ask a few questions," he said lightly. "Just to be thorough, you understand."

"I'm not certain why we couldn't have done this separately, sir," Malfoy said.

Mr. Mulpepper ignored him. Harry was wondered if he was hard of hearing or simply used his age as an excuse to casually not hear things. "Firstly, when did these symptoms start?"

Malfoy's expression turned sour and he looked away. Harry decided to be the one to give in first this time. "About a month ago," he stated.

Mr. Mulpepper glanced at Malfoy. "You see, Draco?"

"Purely coincidental," Malfoy responded, maintaining a cold politeness to his tone that could have frozen Fiendfyre. "I hardly see how a mere clashing of dates can dictate –"

"When did you first feel snappish and aggressive without reason, Draco?" Mr. Mulpepper asked, cutting him off.

Malfoy grunted in defeat. "Three weeks."

Mr. Mulpepper turned to Harry. "And, Mr. Potter, when did you feel angry about the unfairness of your Auror trainers?"

"About three weeks," Harry said, not sure where this was going. "But I don't see –"

"And when did you last feel unreasonably depressed over visibly nothing?"

"I don't know. Last, last weekend, maybe?" Harry guessed, sighing.

"So, two weeks ago?"

"Yes."

Mr. Mulpepper turned back to Malfoy. "And when was your father admitted to the hospital, Draco?"

Malfoy gritted his teeth. "Two weeks ago."

Harry was finally beginning to piece everything together. "Mr. Mulpepper, are you saying that Malfoy –"

This time, it was Malfoy who cut him off. "What he's insinuating, Potter, is unimportant, as they are merely wild theories and assumptions."

"I admit, most of this is guesswork," Mr. Mulpepper said pleasantly. "But you cannot possibly ignore the blatantly obvious fact that somehow, both of your conditions are interconnected."

"Conditions?" Harry blinked. "What condition does Malfoy have?"

"You know, Potter, if you had any common courtesy, you'd know that if a person is within earshot, you shouldn't refer to him or her in third person, as if you're ignoring their presence," Malfoy said irritably.

"Well, common courtesy dictates that you shouldn't be a complete prick, either, but you haven't really done that bit yet, have you?" Harry snapped.

Mr. Mulpepper made a clicking noise with his tongue, preventing Malfoy, who was positively livid now, from retaliating. "Tell him what it is you've been experiencing, Draco," he ordered. There was an authority in his voice that demanded submission.

Malfoy sighed, and turned to Harry as politely as he could. "I assure you, I haven't been experiencing anything. My boss is simply concerned with my slightly irregular –"

It finally clicked into place and Harry asked, surprised by his own boldness, "You've been feeling empty, haven't you?"

Malfoy trailed off, then sat back in his seat, and suddenly became very fascinated by an ant ambling past on a wall. Harry watched him, trying to put some of the things he learned at Auror training to good use. Was Malfoy hiding it because it upset him? Did this emptiness originate from him, or was it Harry's fault?

"Well," Mr. Mulpepper said gently, bringing both of their attentions back to him. "If you'd allow me to wildly theorise a little further." He waited to make sure there would be no interruptions, then started to speak. "There is no denying that both of you have been connected in some way or other, causing you to experience each other's emotions. Perhaps this condition is also affecting a few others in the Wizarding world, but from what I can tell, both of you respond to each other, and each other alone. I would also theorise that after you met each other briefly last week at the front counter of this very same apothecary, your conditions worsened, am I right?" Without waiting for an answer, or perhaps knowing he wasn't going to get one, he continued, "This is – if I may make an assumption – because both of you need to be in each other's company so that the emotions you are feeling do not transfer to the other person. I'm not certain as to why this happens yet, or why you have been linked, but this is a start. In fact, I'm sure that if you checked, you'd realise that you aren't feeling quite so empty now, correct?"

With a jolt, Harry realised that he was right. The feeling of emptiness had lessened significantly. He chanced a glance at Malfoy, but his expression was unreadable.

"In all due respect, this is madness, sir," Malfoy said, voice calm as could be, but still unbearably icy. "There is no possible way that Potter and I can be...linked. We have not contacted each other physically in a long time."

"It isn't about duration, Draco," Mr. Mulpepper said soothingly. "Some old spells –"

"I apologise, sir, but this discussion has to be adjourned," Malfoy cut in. "I have some Aconite Fluid to mail to a client." With that, he stood up and strode out of the room, his long, lithe legs taking him away from sight with a poise and grace that Harry couldn't help but envy.

Mr. Mulpepper gave Harry an apologetic sort of grimace. "You'll have to excuse Draco. He's under a lot of stress."

"It's quite alright." Harry's head was a little clearer now, and he had to admit that he didn't think he and Malfoy were connected in any way.

"But you have some faith in my hypothesis?" Mr. Mulpepper questioned.

"Not much, no," Harry said. "Sorry, but it just doesn't seem to fit to me. I mean, why would Malfoy and I be connected? As he said, we haven't really been bosom friends. I hadn't seen him in months when I came into your shop."

Mr. Mulpepper shook his head. "Sometimes, these things are more complicated than we think," he said softly. "Far too complicated for a poor Potioneer like me to figure out." He smiled gently. "Good day, Mr. Potter."

Harry understood himself to be dismissed.

.:*~*:._.:*~*:._.:*~*:._.:*~*:._.:*~*:.

Draco was fuming all through the rest of the day, and he was still angry the next morning. As he viciously chopped up some Shrivelfig, all he could think about was keeping foreign emotions from his being. He would prove to Mr. Mulpepper that none of the things he was feeling had _anything_ to do with Potter. At all.

Determination flooding his blood and irritation fuelling him, he proceeded to create the next potion, vowing to make it so perfect that there would be no way that Mr. Mulpepper could assume he was distracted. Besides, if anything, he could always blame it on what was happening to his father.

Sighing, Draco put down his knife for a moment. He did worry quite a lot about his father. The survival rate of those with Scrofungulus wasn't exactly comforting, so it was reasonable for Draco to fret over him. His father insisted that he was fine when he was awake (which was very little, too be honest), but Draco knew better.

Draco shook those thoughts away in favour of focusing on the task at hand. He had never been so determined to prove anybody wrong in his entire life. He would not let _Potter_ control his life. No. Bloody. Way.

.:*~*:._.:*~*:._.:*~*:._.:*~*:._.:*~*:.

Proudfoot dashed into the room where Harry and Ron were practising their duelling skills, grasping a memo tightly in his fist and waving a file in the air.

"Our first case?" Ron grinned excitedly, getting distracted enough to forget where he was aiming and burn a hole through a stack of thankfully blank paper.

"Not so fast, Mr. Weasley!" Proudfoot snapped. "This is no laughing matter! There are smugglers huddled up in a building and they are _extremely dangerous_, and we simply need more back up! You were the only two I could think of who would be foolish enough to take this job. Now come on! We'll be late!"

Harry grabbed his wand and Ron scrambled to pull his cloak on. They strode out into the hall hurriedly as Proudfoot passed them the memo with Apparation coordinates written on it in messy scrawls that Harry had to squint to make sense of. "Go there immediately. You will find a team waiting for you. Stay out of trouble and let the experts handle it!" Proudfoot ordered. "You are only there as extra back up. You are not permitted to take matters into your own hands. You will have plenty of time to do that when you become full-fledged Aurors. Have I made myself clear?"

A sudden wave of determination rushed through Harry as Ron nodded fervently. It was an irrational sort of brazen rush, and Harry felt as if he simply _had_ to prove that he was just as good as the "full-fledged Aurors".

"What about you, Mr. Potter?" Proudfoot growled. "Have I made myself clear to you?"

"Crystal," Harry replied, hurriedly trying to remove those thoughts from his mind. He couldn't afford to screw up now. He would have to do exactly as Proudfoot – and any other Aurors on the scene – instructed.

"Good. Now go!" Proudfoot yelled, and he turned a dashed off down the hall, probably in search of Savage or some other Aurors.

Harry and Ron exchanged a glance, then both turned on the spot with the Apparation logistics in mind.

They reappeared in front of a dark hut, which looked like it had been abandoned recently. A window was broken but had been patched up reasonably well with what looked like Spello-tape. Several Aurors – around eight of them – were holding their wands aloft and pointing them at the house. Harry and Ron quickly did the same. Harry could see movement in one of the windows, but there seemed to be some kind of Shield Charm preventing spells from penetrating the glass.

Savage, it turned out, was already at the scene, and his eyes fell on the pair. "I figured Proudfoot'd choose the pair of you," he muttered, then smirked. "Stay back and don't get yourself into this. Both of your jobs are to make sure the smugglers don't escape. Leave everything else to us professionals."

Harry felt that rush of determination again, and subconsciously clenched his hands into fists. He was sick of Savage pushing him around.

"How many of them are there?" Ron asked one of the friendlier Aurors.

"Let's just say we're outnumbered," was the reply.

An Auror up front made a short signal with his left hand.

"We're moving in. You two stay out here," Savage spat.

"Move, move!" someone hissed, and the eight "professional" Aurors made their way towards the door of the hut with smooth, quick movements.

"Why don't we get to help out?" grumbled Ron in a half-whine as the Aurors broke down the front door with a strong _Reducto_.

"Our time will come," Harry offered without really thinking about it. His mind was on other things, on this fierce feeling that he needed to prove himself to everyone, that he needed to _show_ them that he was worthy of his future post as an Auror.

Several shouts and blasts the colour of Stunning spells began to erupt from the interior of the hut. A couple of green spells shot past as well, and Harry's determination mounted tenfold. He began to rush towards the hut.

"Harry! Wait, where're you going?" Ron yelled. "We're supposed to stay here!"

Harry ignored him and burst into the hut at full sprint. A pair of people who were definitely not Ministry officials were duelling fiercely with one of the Aurors. Harry Disarmed both of them and the Auror took them out. He barely glanced at Harry before yelling, "What are you doing here, Potter? Get out right now!"

Harry glared at him. He had just saved the guy's arse and this was how he was thanked? His adrenaline rush kicked in and he turned away to use _Incarcerous_ on another smuggler. He was so absorbed in the fact that he wasn't really all that bad at this that he barely noticed three men exit behind him. By the time he turned around, they were halfway across the lawn. He could hear Ron shouting "_Stupefy_!" and suddenly realised that Ron was completely alone. Harry started to run back out the door when he was hit in the back with a powerful spell that sent him flying off his feet and landing face down on the ground.

And then the world went black.

.:*~*:._.:*~*:._.:*~*:._.:*~*:._.:*~*:.

Draco sat in the waiting room of St. Mungo's, pointedly ignoring what few glances were cast his way. He'd had a significantly rotten day so far, and he couldn't think what would be worse than deciding to spend his lunch hour visiting his father. He didn't know what made him do it – he just felt like he needed to see him, even if his health was slowly degrading into nothingness in a way that was painful to watch.

A female Healer called his name, and he made to get up. As he stood, however, he felt himself become very weak, as if hit by a spell, even though he knew no one in the room had their wands drawn. His legs gave out beneath him and he tumbled to the floor. There was collective gasp from the room and he was vaguely aware of the Healer rushing towards him, saying "Mr. Malfoy? Mr. Malfoy!"

His vision faded to black.

* * *

_Yay, cliff hanger! *runs and hides*_

_A new chapter will be uploaded next Friday or Saturday. _

_Reviews give me light, fluffy feelings! :D_


	5. Chapter 5

_Chapter 5_

White lights seemed to flood in from everywhere. Voices were echoing through Harry's head, and he could feel someone's hand resting on his arm, shaking him gently. Annoyed, he tried to shake the touch off, and was only greeted by a slightly more vigorous shake.

"Harry!" That was Ron's voice for sure, which meant it was his hand trying to wake him up. Harry didn't want to wake up, though. He was so comfortable right now...

There was a sound like a cannon and Harry shot straight up, eyes flying open and limbs flailing embarrassingly around, nearly throwing Ron off his chair.

"Merlin, mate, what's going on with you?" Ron muttered, rubbing his cheek where Harry hit him by accident.

"Sorry," Harry croaked sheepishly, his voice sounding strained. He glanced around and realised that the cannon-like sound he heard had been the sound of the wooden doors of Kingsley's office being roughly shoved open by Savage and Proudfoot.

Harry had been lying across three chairs in the Minister's office. His head was slightly sore and he could feel a bruise forming in his back where he had been hit.

"What happened?" he groaned.

"You acted thoughtlessly and jeopardised the entire darn mission, that's what!" Savage yelled. Proudfoot cast him a warning glance, but it went unheeded. "I specifically told you to stay outside and prevent any escapees from making a run for it! Are you so stubborn and thick-headed that you cannot process simple instructions –"

"That's quite enough." Kingsley's booming voice sounded from behind Harry, and Harry, admittedly, jumped slightly. He hadn't realised the Minister was in the room. "What exactly happened, Harry?"

Harry turned to face him. "I...the Aurors were outnumbered, and I thought –"

"That you could play hero again, huh?" Savage spat. "How many times must I tell you, Potter, the luck that won you the War isn't here anymore? You aren't the Golden –"

"Savage." Kingsley's voice was firm and held unmistakable authority. Savage fell silent, although he still looked positively livid.

"It was very irresponsible of you, Mr. Potter," Proudfoot said coldly. "I specifically remember telling you not to get yourself into trouble and not to interfere with the Aurors' work. You left Mr. Weasley to defend himself outside against three armed and dangerous smugglers. It's a miracle that he managed to take two down before going down himself. If I hadn't Apparated to the scene at that exact moment, Mr. Potter, you would have been responsible for his death."

Harry opened his mouth, turning to Ron, but Ron shook his head. "It's alright, mate. I know you didn't mean it. You weren't acting yourself."

"Speaking of which," Kingsley said, rising from the table and coming to stand in front of Harry. "I've heard several reports from numerous Aurors about your lack of attention and focus during training sessions. With your lack of progress as of late, you can hardly expect to succeed in a fast-paced duel with several smugglers. I expect an explanation. Are you simply not interested in being an Auror any longer? Or are there some problems with your trainers?" He glanced up at Savage warningly.

Harry shook his head. "No, not at all, sir."

"Then what is the problem?" he asked gravely.

"I...I don't know, sir," Harry admitted. "I've been feeling a little off lately."

"A little off?" Savage scoffed. "Is that the best you can do?"

"We aren't blind, Mr. Potter," Proudfoot said. "We've seen your deterioration. It is more than just you feeling slightly off. Even you must be certain of that."

"Yes, I am," Harry said, getting even more annoyed now. "But I don't know what's wrong with me!" His voice rose a lot louder than he'd meant it to.

There was silence for a few moments, and then Kingsley sighed. "Harry, there's no easy way to say this, but I suggest you take a little break."

"A...break?" Harry couldn't believe what he was hearing.

"Until you've figured out what's the matter with you."

"Are you...suspending me?" Harry gaped.

"That's the less pleasant way of putting it, but yes," Kingsley said softly. "Mr. Weasley, after your commendable attempts at holding off the smugglers today, I believe you will do fine without a partner until someone else leaves."

"First week of actual cases," Savage muttered. "Someone always leaves."

"But –" Ron looked unsure.

"When can I come back?" Harry asked, cutting him off and standing up a little too quickly, losing balance, then steadying himself again. "Or are you just trying to get rid of me?"

Kingsley ignored the second half of his questions. "You can come back as soon as you figure out exactly what's wrong with you and how to solve it."

"Exactly?" Harry repeated, his fists clenching again.

"Yes, exactly," Kingsley replied. "Your trainee tag, if you will."

Harry felt heat and anger rise within him, but he forced it down, unpinned the tag on his cloak, and passed it to Kingsley. He turned to his trainers and bowed to them in a way that could be interpreted as either forcibly respectful or insolently mocking. And with that, he Apparated out of the building and out into the streets, his fingernails digging red scars into the palms of his hands.

Even worse, now that his head didn't hurt so much, he could feel the emptiness again.

.:*~*:._.:*~*:._.:*~*:._.:*~*:._.:*~*:.

Draco came to abruptly. It wasn't like those times when he'd passed out and slowly came back into consciousness. He just simply sat up and looked around, vision perfectly clear, feeling in tip-top shape (or as tip-top as he could be with that lingering feeling within him).

In standing up steadily, he startled the Healer who was in the same room as him.

"Oh, Mr. Malfoy, you're awake already." She consulted her clipboard. "That's odd..."

"What happened?" Draco asked harshly, a bit more roughly than he'd intended. Now that he was awake, he felt oddly angry about something.

"To be frank, none of us have a clue," she admitted. "You simply passed out in the waiting room. All your vitals were fine, but you were firmly in a coma-like state no matter what we did, with seemingly no cause. We placed you in this room because we thought you might be confined here for a much longer period of time. But now you've woken up..." She studied him as if he was an odd puzzle.

"Right." Draco was disoriented and confused, but one thing he knew for sure was that he didn't want to stay here. "I'm going to go now, if that's fine by you. I have to get back to work." He consulted his watch – he had five minutes before lunch break was over. He'd have to Apparate there now if he wanted to arrive on time.

"Are you certain?" the Healer asked. "You should probably rest up a little –"

"I'm fine, thanks," said Draco firmly, and with that he shoved open the door and stormed out, unnatural rage nearly obscuring his vision, clouding it with red.

He arrived back at Mr. Mulpepper's right on time, grunted a half-hearted greeting to the man, and then rushed back to the brewing room. He would immerse himself in potion-making for the rest of the day. Perhaps that would diffuse his temper.

As soon as he entered, he turned his attention to the half-done batches of Strengthening Solution he had left to mature over the past few days. They looked about ready to go through the second stage of their production. He measured out an amount of salamander blood and added it into each cauldron. The contents of his vial finished pretty quickly. He was used to producing batches upon batches of potions – multitasking was one of his many talents. Draco winced as he brushed his shoulder accidentally against a shelf while reaching for some more salamander blood – he'd gotten sizable hickey there from last night's exploits. Draco knew that all this sexual activity probably wasn't very good for him, seeing as all it succeeded in doing was numbing the emptiness for half an hour only to induce full-blown guilt the next morning.

He felt angry at himself now – angry for giving in to his urges for companionship, angry for feeling guilty, angry for passing out in the hospital. And angry for several other reasons that he didn't understand. He was even mad at himself for wanting to prove himself to Mr. Mulpepper. He was mad about _everything_. In fact, he was so pissed off with himself that he didn't notice that he had added pomegranate juice instead of salamander blood to half of the cauldrons. When reaching for the salamander blood, he had taken down the juice instead, and had been too absorbed in his anger to check the label.

He let out a hiss of frustration and completely ignored the ruined potions, turning to the half that were still usable and tossing what he supposed was the right amount of powdered Griffin claw into them. Only when those potions were satisfactorily turquoise did he turn away from them, and to his mild horror, he discovered that Mr. Mulpepper had been standing in the doorway for what was, quite possibly, an immeasurable amount of time.

Draco bowed his head as Mr. Mulpepper strode into the room and right up to one of the five large cauldrons containing completely spoiled Strengthening potion, now nothing but a foul, congealed mess that gave off an odour like burnt rubber.

He surveyed the damage, then turned to Draco. "I excused your insolence at the door, but the fact that you allowed your anger to get the better of you and turn a Fifth Year potion into mush along with all the pricey ingredients that came with it greatly worries me," he said softly. "And the reason is right before you, but you still refuse to see it." He sighed, shaking his head. "If you don't find a solution to your problems, Draco, I'm afraid that it may be time for you to search for employment elsewhere."

"Are you firing me?" Draco asked quietly.

"Firing you? Oh no, my lad, not quite yet," Mr. Mulpepper responded. "I'm merely warning you, and informing you how absolutely disappointed I am in you." He turned away, walking back towards the door. "Bottle up the usable potion. I want all of it ready to be sold by tonight so you can stock the shelves with it for tomorrow." He was out the door before Draco could reply.

"Yes, sir," he murmured to an empty room.

.:*~*:._.:*~*:._.:*~*:._.:*~*:._.:*~*:.

"You're sure you're alright, Harry?"

Harry glanced up at Hermione and offered her what he hoped was a reassuring smile. "Yeah. Bit pissed off, that's all."

"And who wouldn't be, given the boot like that?" Ron asked, looking genuinely disgusted. "I can't believe they did that."

"They didn't 'give him the boot', Ron," Hermione said reproachfully. "They just want him to recover so he can perform his best."

Harry didn't say anything. He was half-distracted anyway, feeling especially empty today. As he stared out the windows of a café in Hogsmeade, he couldn't help but wish he was somewhere else.

"...but Harry, you know you can tell us anything."

Harry snapped back to attention, turning to nod at Hermione. "Yeah. Thanks."

She sighed and shook her head. "You didn't hear a single word I said."

Harry glanced out the window again.

"Why won't you tell us what's wrong, Harry?" she asked quietly.

"Because I don't know, myself," he replied.

There was a brief silence, and then a clock chimed in the distance. Hermione gasped and leaped to her feet. "I'm going to be late for History of Magic!" she exclaimed. "It was lovely catching up with you boys. We'll meet again soon, won't we?" Before either could reply, she had grabbed her bag and taken off running down the street.

"Trust her to leave us to pay the bill," Ron grumbled, calling a waiter to their table. "But she's right, you know, Harry."

"What?" Harry asked distractedly.

"You can tell us anything."

He nodded, smiling. "Thanks, mate." He stood up and tossed a few coins onto the table. "I'm going to go for a bit of a walk on my way home. You do well in training, alright?"

"Yeah, sure," Ron replied.

Harry gave him a final wave and took off down the road. As soon as he was out of sight of the café, however, he felt that he didn't quite want to walk anymore. In fact, he had a perfect picture in his mind of where he could go.

Closing his eyes, he spun on the spot and Apparated to Wizarding London.

.:*~*:._.:*~*:._.:*~*:._.:*~*:._.:*~*:.

Draco was patiently attending to an extremely particular wizard who was inquiring insistently about the quality of the ingredients used in the Calming Draught (which he clearly needed) when the door swung open, admitting Harry Potter to the shop. His cloak was drawn tightly around him, and he looked just about as exhausted as Draco felt.

Potter looked around the shop for a second before glancing up and catching Draco's eye. He gave him a small, tired smile, then proceeded to browse the shelves in a haphazard way that told Draco that he really wasn't interested in purchasing Essence of Dittany.

"Please excuse me for a moment, sir," Draco said politely to his client. Without waiting for a reply, he strode across the room to where Potter was standing.

"What are you doing here, Potter?" he hissed.

Potter didn't turn to look at him. "Just looking, thanks."

"You know perfectly well that I am not comfortable with your being here."

"Then walk away and go back to your customer."

"Potter, I want to know why the fuck you're in this shop."

Finally, Potter put down the jar he was holding and met Draco's exasperated gaze. "Is this your idea of customer service? Because you're practically un-welcoming me and leaving a good, rich customer on the other side of the store unattended."

Draco huffed. "'Un-welcoming' isn't a word when used in that context."

"Well, it is now."

Draco fixed him with a glare. "I'll ask you this one more fucking time –"

"I'm here for peace of mind, alright, Malfoy?" Potter sighed. "Does that answer your question?"

"You know next to nothing about potions. I can't fathom how you can get any peace –"

"Don't you dare tell me that being in my vicinity doesn't reduce that empty feeling you've got right now," Potter said sharply. "That's the only reason I'm here, alright? When I feel up to facing the rest of the world again, I'll leave. Now go back to your customer, and I won't bother you."

Draco's shoulders slumped slightly in defeat before he remembered who he was supposed to be and straightened himself out again. He had to admit that even though it had only been a couple of minutes, Draco could already feel some of the emptiness ebbing away. "Fine," he snapped. "Just don't get yourself into any fucking trouble. I don't need another mess on my hands." He turned to walk away when Potter called after him.

"Sorry. That was probably my fault."

Draco turned around, frowning. "What?"

"Your bad day yesterday was probably my fault," Potter repeated.

"Excuse me?" Draco questioned, cocking an eyebrow. How would Potter know how horrible his day had been?

"I kind of got myself knocked out at training today," Potter said, a trifle sheepishly. "And then I got suspended for it, so I was real angry."

"You...got knocked out," Draco repeated slowly, trying to process it all in his head. This couldn't be true – he couldn't believe Potter was going along with Mr. Mulpepper's wild inferences. "And you were angry."

"That's right, I think I said that," Potter remarked. "Although the reason I got suspended was because I felt oddly determined to prove myself that morning, and it got to my head and I sort of messed up." He gave Draco a long, searching, almost odd look. "You wouldn't have had anything to do with that, right?"

"This is preposterous!" Draco snapped. "We are not connected in any way, Potter."

"I think we are," Potter replied. "I'm just not sure how."

Draco couldn't think of anything to say, so he simply turned and stormed off, back to where his customer was waiting. Mr. Mulpepper flashed the pair of them an interested glance, but thankfully did not approach either of them.

After an hour, Potter left, the bell hanging from the door tinkling softly as it shut behind him. This time, when the emptiness returned, it was worse than ever. Draco was going to have to spend the night with someone again.

* * *

_A new chapter will be uploaded next Friday or Saturday._

_Feel free to leave me a review (please?). Thank to all those who have followed and favourited thus far! :D_


	6. Chapter 6

_Chapter 6_

But Potter was back again the next day, and the next, and the next. Each time, he only stayed for a little over an hour, and Draco never attempted to approach him. It was about a week later when Mr. Mulpepper came up to Potter while Draco eavesdropped from a shelf where he was supposed to be tagging the bottles of ingredients.

"Mr. Potter, you've been a regular patron of ours as of late."

"Yes, I have."

"Except you haven't been purchasing anything."

"Oh, I'm sorry, will that be a problem? I could pay you for your time, if you like."

"I could never except Galleons for nothing, my boy. Now tell me, what is it that you like so much about the shop?"

"I think you know, sir."

"Tell me anyway."

"I find the shop comforting."

"I don't think that's all of it, Mr. Potter."

"...right. I find it comforting being...just being here."

"Being around Draco, you mean?"

"I suppose you could say that."

"There's nothing shameful about it, Mr. Potter. It's good for Draco as well. The hours you're here are the only ones where he seems relaxed."

Silence.

"You are always welcome in my shop, Mr. Potter."

There was the sound of clicking shoe heels as Mr. Mulpepper walked away, and Draco turned slightly to get Potter into his view. He was glancing at the floor, a peculiar smile on his face. Before Draco could properly think about it, however, he spoke.

"It's rude to eavesdrop, Malfoy."

It took great restraint to keep Draco from leaping a foot in the air at being caught. Luckily, he managed to maintain a relatively composed expression. "I wasn't even remotely aware of your conversation, Potter."

Potter raised an eyebrow, then paced over casually to him, standing very near. Draco backed away automatically before realising what he was doing and firmly rooting his feet in the ground. Potter glanced at the jars on the shelves. "Is that so? Then why are none of these tagged yet?"

Draco cursed inwardly, but smirked outwardly. "If you must be so inquisitive, it is simply because I haven't written the labels yet. I'm simply taking note of how many I will be required to make."

Potter laughed. "Yeah, keep telling yourself that, Malfoy."

Draco glared at him, then pointedly turned on his heel so he wouldn't have to look at that triumphant expression.

"Sulking doesn't really become you," Potter commented.

"Look, Potter, in case you haven't noticed, I'm trying to work here," Draco snapped.

"Why won't you just admit it?" Potter asked.

"Admit what?"

"That you like having me in the shop as much as I like being here."

Draco snorted. "That's because I don't. You're nothing but a nuisance and a distraction. I don't need you here."

"I never said you did."

Draco pinched the bridge of his nose and let out a huff of annoyance. This debate was spiralling out of control. "This argument is over, Potter," he said crossly. "Now fuck off so I can work." Angrily, Draco attempted to Charm price labels into obedience with a too-harsh flick of his wand, accidentally sending a few flying slightly off target. He growled, irritated by his lack of practise. He had become rather accustomed to labelling by hand, but he didn't want to look daft in front of the saviour of the Wizarding World.

Oh, too late.

"Need a little help there?" Potter asked, and Draco recognised a mocking tone in his voice. When had their roles reversed? When did Draco start being the idiot who Potter could pick on?

"No. I simply, as I said earlier, find your presence distracting. Perhaps if you heeded my words and fucked off, we wouldn't be in this situation."

Potter exhaled loudly. "You know what? Fine. I'll go. All I was trying to do was be pleasant. You didn't have to fuck it all up."

"If this is your attempt at pleasantry, I'd hate to see you when you're filled with hatred."

Potter turned back to Draco, his expression almost unreadable. "But you'd know all about that, wouldn't you?"

Draco opened his mouth, but no words came out. Potter walked out the front door, slamming the door behind him.

.:*~*:._.:*~*:._.:*~*:._.:*~*:._.:*~*:.

As pissed off as Harry was at the prick, and despite all the alcohol he consumed later that night, he knew he would be back at the shop the next day. Visiting the apothecary had become his new vice, his new drug – it was the only way for him to find peace and clarity, especially now that he was relatively unoccupied during the day.

Taking another swig from his bottle, he wondered how on earth he could have gotten hooked like this on _Malfoy_ of all people. If he had to rely on the git for the rest of his life, he was definitely screwed.

.:*~*:._.:*~*:._.:*~*:._.:*~*:._.:*~*:.

Nightfall saw Draco holding an unfamiliar stranger in his arms. He closed his eyes as the man sunk down over him, enveloping him with warmth. This time, the guilt overwhelmed him from the minute he thrust himself upwards, causing his partner to moan wantonly, his head falling carelessly onto Draco's, dark brown hair tickling his chin distractingly.

The guilt remained, even as Draco brought his partner to climax with a well-practised hand, and even as he reached his own peak.

It didn't even take thirty seconds for the stranger to stand up and get dressed. "You want me to pay for the room?" he asked, just before leaving.

Draco shook his head, not even moving from where he lay.

The guy turned to go, then paused and turned back. "You know, you could've at least _pretended_ to enjoy it."

Draco didn't reply, turning on his side so he wouldn't have to face the man anymore. He didn't stir, even long after the wooden door had clicked shut, even as the stranger's footsteps faded away. He didn't have the strength to, not anymore.

And damn it, he wished he hadn't pissed Potter off so much. Maybe he needed him around after all.

.:*~*:._.:*~*:._.:*~*:._.:*~*:._.:*~*:.

Harry could clearly see from Hermione's face that she was thinking. The way she surveyed him carefully and seemed to attempt to take in every single move he made wasn't obvious to the occasional passerby, but it was certainly obvious to him.

Sighing across the table as he took a sip of his coffee, he gave in. "Hermione, I'm fine."

She frowned, clearly not believing him, and turned her attention to her relatively untouched meal. Ron hadn't been able to join them due to increasingly demanding Auror training, and Harry wished he was here, because he would be able to distract both of them with horrid tales of Savage's intense hatred and injustice. Now, as neither he nor Hermione were really talkers, there was plenty of time to think and interpret each word being said.

"I've seen you in the Prophet a lot more often than I used to," Hermione muttered.

"That's natural, seeing as I've practically been given the boot by the Ministry," Harry replied with a small, not-entirely-genuine smile. "The Golden Boy, fallen from grace. That's why I don't read those rubbish newspapers anymore."

"You should; it'll keep you updated," Hermione advised. "Besides, your face isn't plastered to the front covers, Harry. It's just little snapshots of you going out and about – something you haven't done for a while."

"You _did_ want me to try and keep myself busy, didn't you?" Harry sighed.

"Harry, you've been spotted in the exact same area day after day, usually right after the meals we have," Hermione said, more seriously now. "What have you been doing?"

"I like going for walks, alright?" Harry groaned. "And that's the point I like to Apparate to. What's wrong with that?"

"It isn't wrong, it's just that..." Her voice trailed off.

"What is it?" Harry asked.

"Nothing."

Frustrated, Harry leaned back in his seat. "Hermione, you have to stop worrying about me."

Hermione watched him for a moment. "I'm just concerned, you know that. You haven't really been _you_ for a while now. I miss _you_."

Harry looked down at his plate. "Yeah. I'm sorry. I'm getting there."

"But where are you getting there _from_, Harry?" she demanded, sounding exasperated.

"I told you, I'm not really sure yet," Harry said. "And it's not as if I don't want to find out, you know. I have to figure out what it is if I want to get back into training. So don't rush me, Hermione. I'm trying the best I can."

She looked doubtful, but she nodded. Harry brought up Hogwarts, which she seemed eager enough to discuss. He breathed a soft sigh of relief. Hopefully they'd get through the rest of lunch without having to talk about what was wrong with him again. He was starting to feel like a fascinating mental case for St. Mungo's.

Eventually, they each paid their share and Harry watched Hermione trudge back up the Hogsmeade trail leading to Hogwarts. Being an "eighth-year", she was allowed to leave Hogwarts for a meal or supplies at any time. Harry wondered vaguely if his life would be easier if he had just returned to Hogwarts.

.:*~*:._.:*~*:._.:*~*:._.:*~*:._.:*~*:.

The bell chimed quietly, signalling his entry into the apothecary, and Harry winced slightly at the noise. He didn't want to be announced, because he wasn't sure how he was going to be taken.

"Mr. Potter, you're back again," Mr. Mulpepper called by means of greeting from where he was packing flasks into paper bags, and Harry ducked his head in response. He turned around, searching, but couldn't seem to find what he was looking for.

"Where's Malfoy?" he asked.

"He's in the storeroom," came the reply. "Poor lad hasn't felt too well today."

"May I?"

Mr. Mulpepper positively beamed and nodded, extending his arm in the direction of the door. Pushing politely past the line at the counter, Harry ducked through the shelves and placed his hand on the doorknob, hesitated for a moment, then gently pushed the door open.

Malfoy was sitting down on a crate, a tired sigh just leaving his lips as he tagged some jars with lazy flicks of his wand. It wasn't anything like his attempt at putting price tags on them the previous day – he was labelling each ingredient with precision, knots tying around lids as parchment with clear writing attached to them. Harry had only a moment to admire the ease with which he handled magic before Malfoy sat up rigidly at the sound of the opening door, registered his presence, and huffed, putting his wand away.

"What do you want?" he asked wearily.

"Look, I'm..." Harry took a deep breath. "...sorry."

Malfoy smirked, but Harry could see it took all of his effort to upturn even that corner of his lips. "Do my ears deceive me, or did Harry Potter just apologise, and to a Slytherin no less?" He stood up, and Harry nearly instinctively ran forwards to prevent him from falling over – he looked so very weak.

"Are you alright?" Harry asked, firmly stopping himself from moving from where he was.

Malfoy chuckled. "Is this you making empty small talk again, or is it you being concerned?"

"What do you think?" Harry shot back. "You look like shite."

"Thanks, Potter."

"You know what I meant."

Malfoy sighed, then shook his head. "I just don't get it."

"What?"

"Why it has to be you of all people who I've ended up being dependant on."

Harry cocked an eyebrow. "So, you admit it?"

"It's a little impossible not to," Malfoy replied, shifting slightly in his seat. "Within the five minutes you have been in this shop, my head has already cleared. I like to think of myself as highly intelligent, Potter, and I cannot ignore evidence."

"Do you know why it's happening, though?" Harry asked.

"I was under the impression that no one does," Malfoy said, taking his wand out again and resuming his tagging work. Harry watched as labels with strings attached tied themselves around lids of bottles, jars and flasks. Although Malfoy worked pretty quickly, Harry could see he had hundreds of tags left to put on.

So he drew his wand, too.

"What are you doing?" Malfoy asked, half-suspiciously.

Harry flicked his wand, and a tag attached itself to a small jar. "Helping."

Malfoy sighed. "I don't need your help."

Harry quirked an eyebrow, and Malfoy sighed again.

"Fine," he snapped. "Just don't mix the tags up, or I'll kick you the fuck out of here myself."

Harry grinned, a real smile, for the first time in a while, and flicked his wand again. Tags flew onto the shelves, fixing to bottle caps effortlessly. He could get used to this.

.:*~*:._.:*~*:._.:*~*:._.:*~*:._.:*~*:.

For the next few days, Draco got carried away. Potter came to visit the store and help out every day after lunch hour, and Draco found himself looking forward to his arrival every day. It wasn't for any personal reasons – it was just because of the relief from the emptiness that Potter brought with him. Draco didn't actually _like_ him or enjoy his company or anything like that.

Before he could shake the thought away, the front door opened, accompanied by the familiar creaking of hinges and tinkling of bells, and Potter strode in.

"Afternoon, Mr. Mulpepper," Draco heard Potter.

"Afternoon, Mr. Potter. Draco's in the brewing room."

A few moments later, Draco heard footsteps approaching the open door and looked up, offering a faint smile to Potter as he approached the room.

"What are you making today?" Potter asked, pacing into the room and glancing around.

"An Invigoration Draught," replied Draco. "I'm experimenting with ways to make it more effective."

"Really?" Potter sounded interested. "My house elf gives me a variation of those whenever I've got a hangover."

"Get hung-over often?"

"More than you'd expect," Potter replied with a half-smile. "Can I be of any use?"

"Don't touch anything and try not to distract me," Draco said firmly, trying to sound harsh but probably failing.

"As usual," Potter remarked.

Draco ignored him, stirring the potion lightly. It was simple enough to make on its own, but his experiments sometimes ended in great explosions that had Mr. Mulpepper running towards the room with his wand drawn. He had since learned, however, that if he left Draco alone with the mess for half an hour, the room would be good as new when he came to inspect it.

As Potter looked curiously at a cluster of multi-coloured vials, Draco added two scruples of Fluxweed into the simmering potion. Although it was strictly used in Polyjuice Potion, Draco was certain that the healing properties might be able to boost the invigorating properties of the potion he was working on. Carefully, he stirred the cauldron's contents, eager to see results. Slowly but surely, the colour of the potion morphed to a mustard sort of hue.

And then the potion began to bubble.

"Fuck," Draco said, realising what was about to happen before it did.

There was a deafening _boom!_ that knocked Draco off his feet and sent him sprawling to the floor as the potion exploded, sending chunks of gooey liquid splattering messily around the room. When his ears stopped ringing, Draco looked up to see that Potter was also on the floor, a rather large amount of yellow substance covering most of his clothes. It was a pity – Draco was rather fond of that dark green shirt Potter wore.

Because it was a Slytherin colour, of course, not because it looked good on him or anything.

Mr. Mulpepper dashed into the room, but he looked relatively relaxed. He was used to Draco's failed experiments and, while he did not encourage them, did his best to indulge Draco's inquisitive nature whenever he could. "Everyone alright in here?" he smiled pleasantly.

"Fan-bloody-tastic," Potter muttered, sitting up and cleaning potion off of his glasses.

"A mere minor miscalculation on my part," Draco said quickly, standing up and pulling out his wand, casting nonverbal _Reparo_s on a few shattered vials. "I should have turned to flames off when I added the Fluxweed."

"Fluxweed? In an Invigoration Draught? Ingenious!" Mr. Mulpepper exclaimed. "Well, make sure you clean this place up, boys." With that, he stepped over a pile of yellow gunk and walked out the door.

Potter stood up, casting _Scourgify_ on himself, then on everything in sight. Draco followed suit, and they worked in silence together. The room was cleaned up in record time, and by the end of the quarter hour, Draco was starting on a new batch, ignoring all off Potter's joking remarks about his miscalculations. He didn't mind the chatter – he actually found it enjoyable.

Because it was like background noise, in a sense, and kept him occupied. Not because he liked listening to Potter, or anything like that.

"Too bad we don't have a camera," Potter joked. "I would have loved to take a photo of you looking so dazed – a rare moment."

"At least I didn't appear as graceless as you, Potter." Malfoy shot back.

"Harry," Potter said quietly.

"Excuse me?"

"It's Harry," Potter repeated. "We've spent time together for weeks, almost gotten blown up together, and are connected in some way or other. I'm pretty sure that calls for first-name basis."

Draco laughed. "Keep dreaming, Harry."

"You said it, though," Potter said, looking oddly pleased.

"Said what?"

"My first name."

Draco started, realising that he had. For some reason, it had been automatic to him, once given permission. "Harry," he tried again, interested in the way the name seemed to roll off his tongue effortlessly, as if he hadn't spent years trying not to use it. It was weird, but a good kind of weird.

"That's better," Harry smiled. "Now, can I help with that? I can try to stave off explosions."

Draco sighed, then nodded. "I suppose, as long as you aren't an insufferable prick about it."

"See, Draco, we're learning to be civil," Harry jibed.

Draco liked the way his name sounded when Harry said it – it felt natural. "I don't think it's me who needs the lesson in manners," Draco shot back. He held the Fluxweed over the potion for the second time, turning the heat down. He glanced at Harry, who had drawn his wand again to prepare for any mistakes. "Ready?" he asked.

Harry nodded. "Ready."

Draco dropped the Fluxweed into the cauldron. The potion turned blue again, starting to bubble, but Harry drew some sort of pattern with his wand, and it simmered down a little.

And then one splatter escaped the cauldron and hit Draco squarely in the face. Thankfully, it wasn't scalding hot, just warm, but it made quite a mess all the same.

"You prick!" Draco burst out as Harry doubled over with laughter. "You did that on purpose!"

"Did not!" Harry grinned.

They were so busy arguing that they almost let the potion explode again, but they managed to save it and Draco had a full flash of dark red liquid by the end of their experimentation. All in all, a productive day.

Draco figured he could get used to this.

* * *

_A new chapter will be uploaded next Friday or Saturday._

___Reviews make me happy and are very much appreciated!_

_Thank to everyone who has followed, favourited and reviewed thus far!_


	7. Chapter 7

_Chapter 7_

A week later, Harry was talking to a customer about a certain product, having become quite knowledgeable about some of the potions in the shop, while Draco manned the counter. He had just been in the shop for about ten minutes, but there was always work to be done here. Some of the regulars already recognised him, and Harry realised that when he wasn't trying too hard to hide from the press or fans, it was easier for him to go by unnoticed. The man he was speaking to now didn't even blink when Harry gave his name as Mr. Potter. Either the man didn't recognise him at all, or he simply didn't care about Harry's origins. That was the best part – he was safe in this shop. Potions would never be his passion, but it was a good way for him to occupy his time, and neither Draco nor Mr. Mulpepper seemed to mind.

The door swung open and Harry turned to smile at the new customer, only to feel his smile fade quickly off his face when he saw Hermione striding up to him decisively.

"Hermione, what –"

"We need to talk, Harry." Her voice was stern, and Harry had a sudden realisation that he was sometimes rather afraid of her and would listen to anything she said when she used that tone of voice on him. Then again, who wouldn't?

Harry smiled at his customer. "Excuse me, sir," he said, and allowed himself to be pulled to a more discreet location in a corner of the shop.

"What are you doing here?" he hissed at Hermione, who shot him a glare in return.

"That's what I should be asking you," she said, sounding cross. "Is this where you've been?" she asked, looking around the shop quickly before turning to face him again. "I simply thought you'd gotten addicted to some sort of potion, but I walk in and find you're working here! You never told Ron or me about this new job!"

"You were following me!" Harry accused.

"It doesn't matter! Now when did you decide to become a Potioneer?"

_She really does need to sort out her priorities._ "I'm not working here, Hermione!" Harry snapped. "I'm just helping out."

"And why did you choose this place?" Hermione challenged. "I'm not an idiot, Harry. You have to have chosen this place for a reason."

Nervously, Harry glanced over at the counter, where Draco was watching the scene unfold with concerned blue-grey eyes. Unfortunately, his small movement was all Hermione needed. She turned to look in the direction he was, and her jaw visibly dropped. It took a few moments for her to compose herself and look at him again, a fire in her eyes.

"Why are you working with him?" she hissed through gritted teeth.

"I..." Harry knew there was no easy way to explain this. "He...I..."

"Is this what's been bothering you, Harry?" she asked persistently. "Is this why you've been acting so strange? Because if you're being threatened or forced to do something you don't want to –"

"Woah, woah, Hermione, slow down," Harry cut in. "I'm not being blackmailed. Draco and I –"

"Oh, he's _Draco_ now?"

"Will you just listen to me?" snapped Harry. "Draco and I have been...sort of connected. I can't quite figure out how."

"Are you trying to come out of the closet?" she inquired, looking perfectly exasperated.

"No, no! Merlin, I'm going about this all wrong," Harry groaned. "Can you...sit down for a moment? There's a chair in front of the counter –"

"I am not taking a step near Malfoy until you tell me what's going on!"

Harry sighed. "Fine. Then wait here." He paced over to where Draco was.

"Granger have a problem?" Draco asked, carelessly counting Sickles.

"Yeah, you see, I haven't quite told her about..." Harry gestured lamely between them. "...this connection stuff."

Draco frowned, then nodded. "I see."

"If you don't mind, I need to...sit her down," Harry said apologetically.

Draco sighed, moving away from the counter. "It's all yours. Please at least attempt to count some of the coins while you're at my station."

Harry smiled gratefully, waited for Draco to disappear behind some shelves, and gestured for Hermione to sit down at the counter. She came over, eyeing the back of Draco's head apprehensively.

"Look, here's the gist of it..." Harry explained everything that had been going on to Hermione, including the details about how Mr. Mulpepper inferred that they were experiencing connected symptoms, because he knew she'd want to know every single little bit of information. She even started asking some questions of her own, which Harry answered as patiently as he could. When he was finished, she had an odd, thoughtful look about her.

"I think I understand, now," she said, almost to herself. "And it all should make sense, but it doesn't; it doesn't!"

"What are you going on about?" Harry asked, even though he knew the chances of his getting a straight answer were rather slim.

"It's so simple, but something's missing from the equation," she muttered.

"What is it?" Harry repeated.

"I just can't put my finger on it, but it's there –"

"Hermione!" Harry burst out. "What are you talking about?"

"Harry, you and Malfoy have been Bound!" Hermione exclaimed. "That's the only reasonable explanation, yet there's a factor missing – "

"Wait, wait, what do you mean, _bound_?" he gulped. "Like...Dark Arts Bound? Or...marriage Bound?"

"Don't be silly, Harry," Hermione said irritably. "From what you've told me, it's got certain elements of the Marriage Bond, but that wouldn't enable you to feel each other's emotions! What I'm understanding from this is that it's a lot deeper than that, and it's as if something is trying to force both of you together."

"And how do I make it go away?" Harry questioned.

"Which part of the there's-a-missing-factor bit did you not understand?" Hermione snapped. "I can't figure all of it out in ten seconds, Harry. But I can suggest that you and Malfoy spend as much time together as possible."

"That's what I'm doing, aren't I?" Harry said. "That's why I'm here."

"No, Harry, that isn't what I meant," Hermione sighed. "What the Bond you've developed is trying to do is push both of you together. The only way to neutralise its effects until we know what caused it would be to give in to what it wants."

"What are you saying here?" Harry demanded.

"I'm just suggesting that if both of you...crashed with each other for a while –"

Harry's eyes widened in a way that might have been comical, had the situation not been so serious. "No! No way! I am not moving in with that git –"

"Why not? You seem pretty chummy to me," Hermione replied, without batting an eyelash.

"Can't I just go on doing what I'm doing, visiting him every day?" Harry asked. "Isn't this a bit too much?"

"No, Harry, that's not how Bonds works!" Hermione snapped, looking extremely frustrated. "Don't you realise that you've been spending more and more time at this damn shop each day?"

"How would you know that?"

"Timestamps on the newspaper photos," Hermione replied, looking annoyed that he had to ask. "And I'd gather that you feel worse each time after you leave."

"How are you getting all these conclusions?" Harry groaned, nearly sending silver coins scattering messily across the table in his frustration.

"It's just an intelligent guess, Harry," Hermione sighed. "Anyway, my point is –"

"No! Hermione, we're not going to move in together!"

A hush fell over the shop, and Harry realised that he'd spoken too loudly. Hermione flushed scarlet and frowned at him as Draco came over, a warning look in his silver eyes.

"Is it so difficult for you both to keep your voices down, or are you always this excitable?" he asked, half-disapproving, half-exasperated.

Hermione took a precautionary step back. "I...I was just trying to convince Harry here that moving in together was a good idea."

Draco cocked an eyebrow. "Oh? Harry never mentioned a girlfriend."

"I wasn't referring to myself," Hermione snapped, gathering a little courage. "I meant with you."

Draco laughed – it was humourless. "Is this a far-fetched little theory or fantasy of yours, Granger?"

Hermione went even redder. "How dare you suggest –"

Draco held up his hands in mock-surrender. "I jest," he said non-comically. "But I must confess that I don't understand what has led you to make this statement."

Hermione drew herself up to her full height, reminding Harry of a cat ready to spring. He recognised that look – she was about to make an intellectual argument. "I believe that you and Harry have been Bound by some means I do not yet understand." She paused, as if waiting for him to argue so she could prove her point, but he didn't. Instead, he looked thoughtful for a moment.

Several moments passed before he muttered, "Yes, that would explain quite a lot."

Hermione's shoulders sagged slightly in a mixture of relief and shock before she asked, "Are you mocking me?"

"No," Draco replied matter-of-factly. "I don't understand why I didn't see it before, to be frank."

Hermione's jaw dropped – a Malfoy was admitting to making a mistake.

"But how could we have been Bound?" Draco went on, frowning slightly. "We made no contact with each other for several months beforehand."

"That's what I don't understand," Hermione said warily. She paused for a few moments before straightening her shoulders again, a curious gleam in her eyes. Harry recognised this, too – it was the look she used when she was about to have an intelligent conversation with an intellectual person. "But you see now why I've suggested you both move in together."

Draco shook his head, performing all the calculations easily in his head, already mostly understanding what had taken Harry several explanations to grasp. "We cannot be 100% positive that both parties experience the feeling of increasing loss – "

"He does," Hermione cut in. "I asked him. And if you had simply done just that earlier instead of pretending not to care about it, you might've figured it out weeks prior."

Draco's eyes flashed at the challenge, but he remained mostly calm. "You understand, of course, that I cannot possibly endorse this idea of yours. Although it would, without a doubt, ease the discomfort, I rather like to believe that both of us can handle it rather well, seeing as we've dealt with worse things in the past."

If Hermione was thrown off by his implications, she did not show it. "And you understand, of course, that within a few months both of you would have become so crippled by the effects of this Bond that the only way to neutralise them would be to force you two together in ways you probably would not be happy with."

Draco clamped his mouth shut, looking away, and Harry could've sworn his usually pale face coloured. Hermione looked triumphant.

"What?" Harry asked, not sure what was going on.

Hermione ignored him. "You know I'm right, Malfoy. The only way to avoid such a situation from occurring would be to stave it off."

"I don't believe this," Draco groaned, burying his face in his hands.

"I don't understand," Harry said, frustrated, but once more, he was ignored.

"It's pointless to fight against a bond this powerful," Hermione went on as Draco pinched the bridge of his nose, looking rather upset. "Let it get too far, and it'll either be going to that extreme, or simply becoming crippled by the Bond's effects, and I'm certain you'd have to go with the former."

"What's the former?" Harry practically yelled.

"We aren't even fully aware of the Bond's strength –" Draco attempted.

"It was certainly strong enough to bring both of you together," Hermione said calmly. "It'll compel you into performing acts I'm not sure you want to perform."

"There's no need to spell it out," shot back Draco.

"Actually, yes there is! What is going on?" Harry questioned.

Hermione was focused on Draco. "That's how Bonds work, Malfoy. If ignored, they get stronger and stronger until the only option left is that one."

"Guys!" Harry finally shouted, bringing himself to attention. Hermione and Draco turned to look at him, as did half the patrons in the shop. He lowered his voice a little. "Do you mind going a little slower, for the less genius people here?"

Hermione furrowed her brow, as if realising the reason Harry hadn't been sorted into Ravenclaw. "If you don't stave off the Bond's effects, it'll end up drawing you closer and closer until the only way to relieve the strong connection would be to get as close as possible."

"Meaning...?"

Draco rolled his eyes and muttered something about ignorance under his breath before turning away and sinking into one of the chairs in front of the counter.

"Meaning, Harry," Hermione said patiently, "that you'd both have to get...very close indeed."

It took a few moments for those words to sink in, and when they did, Harry's eyes widened and flicked to Draco for a few short moments before darting back to Hermione again. "That...can't..." He trailed off, unsure of what to say. "But I'm not gay!" he ended up protesting weakly.

"I doubt your sexuality will matter much when you're consumed by agonising –"

"Salazar, you don't have to paint a picture!" Draco exclaimed, standing up defiantly again and turning to her. "Look, Granger, I appreciate the concern, but –"

"Don't flatter yourself," she said coldly. "I'm doing this for Harry. And if you're the only one who can make him see sense, I don't have much of a choice than to include you, do I?"

Draco didn't even flinch, but his gaze turned icy. "Touching. My point is that I will not agree to moving in with Potter." Harry registered the use of his surname and resisted the urge to turn to him and tell him to relax.

"And why not?" Hermione snapped. "Because you boys and your egos just don't know when to quit?"

Draco glared at her for several moments, then said quietly, "I think you'd better leave."

Hermione's gaze was fierce and challenging and would've sent many people running in fear, but Draco barely even moved. "Fine," she said. She turned to Harry. "I hope you'll be the one to see sense first. I don't want to have to clean up any messes." With that, she turned and strode right out the door.

Harry didn't move, torn between running after her to apologise (potentially having to face her fury alone) and staying here with a very pissed off Draco. He didn't have to make the decision, though, as Draco turned on his heel and walked through a side door, slamming it behind him. Harry heard the click of a lock.

Sighing, he slunk down onto the chair behind the counter and resumed the mundane task of counting out Galleons, wondering when his life had started spinning so completely out of control.

.:*~*:._.:*~*:._.:*~*:._.:*~*:._.:*~*:.

Neither Draco nor Harry spoke about the incident with Hermione for the next few days. Things were strained between them, and Draco had taken to calling Harry "Potter" again, which he found very unfair, because he hadn't done anything wrong.

It wasn't until a little over a week later that Mr. Mulpepper decided to do something about it. It was a lazy afternoon, and business hadn't quite been on a roll. The shop was empty and Draco was sitting at the counter reading some potions book while stirring a cup of tea. Harry was seated rather rigidly in front of him, pretending to be immersed in a piece of parchment with nothing on it.

Mr. Mulpepper approached them, sat on the remaining stool, and smiled. "I couldn't help but overhear your conversation with that delightful girl last week."

Neither person responded, although Harry could almost hear Draco's unspoken _oh, here we go_.

"I think she's quite right," he went on pleasantly. "Perhaps if both of you stepped back and viewed the situation with objective eyes, you might agree with me."

Harry turned away, tossing the parchment in his hands into a trash bin in the corner, just to give himself something to do. Draco pretended not to be listening.

"Now I can see how difficult this must be for both of you, but surely you don't want to end up having intimate relations with each other just because of your stubbornness," Mr. Mulpepper added.

At that moment, both Draco and Harry snapped. "There will be none of that!" exclaimed Draco indignantly at the same time that Harry said "That's not going to happen!"

"Then you understand that moving in to one house would benefit both of you in the long term," Mr. Mulpepper replied smoothly. "Anyway, I'll leave both of you to make your arrangements." He swept out of the room, humming softly to himself.

Harry sighed after a few moments. "Draco, you know he's right."

"Don't even try, Potter."

"I'm not being unreasonable or anything here!" Harry snapped. "Honestly, I'd much rather move in with you than end up fucking you because I have no choice!"

Draco turned to glare at him, and Harry waited for the storm to hit. With a carefully guarded tone, he said, "What makes you think _you'll_ be fucking _me_?"

Harry's jaw nearly dropped. Of all the impossible things he'd said in that sentence, Draco had chosen to pick up on that? "I'm not getting into technicality or anything, I'm just saying –"

"That because you're straight and I'm gay, you get to take control?" Draco asked, smirking coyly. "I've never let anyone fuck me before, and I don't plan to start with you."

Harry felt his cheeks heat up. "I didn't say anything of that sort!" He paused, then realised what Draco had said and asked with a tone of surprise, "You're gay?"

Draco made a clicking sound with his tongue. "The Prophet published a story on that nearly half a year ago, Potter. Where have you been?"

Harry shrugged. "I don't read the Wizarding papers much anymore."

"I shan't fault you there," Draco sighed. He stopped for a moment, as though thinking, then said, "Why do you believe that such an action would be a good idea?"

"I didn't say it would be!"

"I meant moving in together, Potter," Draco drawled with a roll of his eyes. "Really, it's incredible that you're able to carry a conversation with those slow wits of yours."

"There's no need to insult me," Harry said, annoyed. "And I don't think it's a wonderful idea that'd have us riding off into the sunset –" Draco snorted here, and Harry shot him a pointed glance. " – but it'd definitely be better than the other option."

"Yes, the alternative is far less appealing," Draco agreed quietly. "However, moving in together would probably result in a swift demolishing of whatever house we're living in."

"Seeing as it'll probably be my godfather's old house, I think not," Harry replied. "That building has withstood a lot."

"What makes you think we'll be staying in your place?" Draco inquired.

Harry groaned – were there no limits to a Malfoy's pride? "Because I have a responsibility to that house, you git. It isn't always about you, you know."

They stared at each other for a moment, cold grey eyes boring into bright green ones. Harry could feel the heatedness of Draco's gaze, he could feel the fire building within it – Draco was sizing him up. It took all his efforts not to squirm under that stare. How had he ever done this at Hogwarts without feeling subconscious? He recalled meeting that penetrating gaze on several occasions without blinking, instead goading Draco on with his own equally hostile glance. Harry narrowed his eyes daringly into a glare, the same way he remembered doing before.

Finally, Draco broke eye contact and shook his head. "I have a Muggle apartment. I'd much rather we move in there."

"I can't do that," Harry replied shortly.

"What sort of responsibilities do you have to a bloody house?" Draco questioned.

"First of all, there's Kreacher. I can't leave him alone," Harry began, but before he could go on, Draco cut in.

"Kreacher? The house elf, Kreacher?" he asked, looking mildly surprised.

"Well, yeah," Harry said, taken aback. "Why?"

Draco didn't reply, instead glancing down at the floor for a few moments before saying quietly, "So he's still there," he murmured. "I visited that house every year until I turned five." He glanced up at Harry and frowned, not seeming to notice Harry's surprise at the admission. "I remember a Grand-aunt Wulburga lived there – not a very hospitable woman."

_Yeah, you're telling me_, Harry thought as his mind flew back to the portrait of the late Mrs Black still stuck on his wall. He wondered vaguely if Draco would mind it being there, but didn't dare to bring it to light. "Your grand-aunt?" he asked instead. "Were you related immediately, or...?"

"Yes. She was my grandfather Cygnus' sister," Draco replied. "Why does that matter to you?" he inquired sharply.

"I'm just curious, that's all," Harry said hastily. "There's a tapestry with the Black family tree on it in the house, and I remember seeing your name there, but I never paid much attention to it." He smiled lightly. "Perhaps that's how we're connected – we're distantly related, you know."

Draco laughed hollowly. "I don't think so, Potter."

"Many Pureblood families are related," said Harry, who found himself getting more irked with each mention of his surname. "You're related to Neville, too. I can prove it to you."

Draco sniffed. "I didn't mean that I didn't believe that we were related, Potter. I merely meant that I doubt that's how we are connected. Otherwise, I would have experienced similar problems with McMillan and Flint, and that horrible Bulstrode girl."

Harry shrugged. "Fine. But until we come to an agreement on how to keep this bond at bay, there's no way we're going to be able to clear up what's really connecting us. Not with all these distractions."

Draco smirked, then said, "A very compelling argument." He stood up. "Very well, Potter. If need be, I will move in with you. But keep in mind that this whole affair is your idea, and not mine."

"Sure," said Harry, not fazed in the slightest. "And you keep in mind, when we figure it out, that we'd never have done it without my input."

Draco snorted, but Harry detected a smile under the facade. "It's on, Potter," he said.

* * *

_A new chapter will be uploaded next Friday or Saturday._

_Thanks to all those who have reviewed, favourited and followed thus far!_

_Reviews are very much appreciated, and so is constructive criticism! :)_


	8. Chapter 8

_Chapter 8_

Draco wasn't sure who was more excited about his agreement to stay under the same roof as Harry (yes, he still thought of him by first name; it was a little hard to go back on things like that) – Mr. Mulpepper, who offered to give Draco a month of paid leave so that he could get used to things (he denied that, of course; who would want to be stuck in a house with a Gryffindor all day long?) or that Granger girl, who was the first person Harry contacted about it and Apparated into the shop the next day to throw her arms around him. Draco still wondered if there was something more than friendship going on between both of them, but Harry fervently denied it, so he gave it the benefit of the doubt.

Two days later, Draco brought a suitcase filled with the basic necessities and followed Harry to Grimmauld Place after work. He didn't think he'd have to stay for long – if he could bring himself to ask Granger for assistance, they should be able to figure out what was causing the bond in no time.

When Harry led him in through the front door, the first thing Draco noticed before anything else was the troll leg umbrella stand in the corner. He remembered it from his younger days – he'd eyed it with fascination and attempted to clamber over it at some point. He also saw a large black square covered in dark curtain that he didn't remember being there before.

Harry noticed him staring at it and whispered, "You don't want to see what's behind there."

"Why are you whispering?" Draco asked.

"Shh!" Harry snapped, glancing at the dark square worriedly. "I'll tell you later, come on." He started to lead the way up the stairs, and when Draco didn't immediately follow, he turned and yanked on his arm, leading him up the steps. Draco was immediately surprised by the warmth that seemed to exude from Harry's grip – it spread even through Draco's black jacket and almost paved itself across his own skin. Draco pulled his arm away, muttering something about being able to walk well enough on his own, thank you very much. Luckily, Harry ignored him, because Draco wasn't a hundred percent sure that what he said came out in a grammatically correct sentence.

Once they were on the first floor, Harry led the way down a narrow sort-of-hallway and pointed to the first door on the right. "That'll be the bathroom," Harry said lightly. "And this –" He pointed to the door right after it. " – is your room. You can dump your suitcase inside."

Draco swung open the door. It was spotless, but looked like it hadn't been used in ages. There were two beds on either corner of the room, and stood next to each of them was a cupboard. He carelessly threw his worn-out suitcase on the bed nearest the window. A part of him wanted to ask who'd slept there before, but he figured he probably wouldn't like the answer.

He stepped out and closed the door behind him, and Harry led him out of the sort-of hallway and turned to the right, then motioned to a larger door. "This is what I use as the living room," he explained. Draco peered in – it had three worn sofas arranged around a fireplace. He didn't bother scrutinising it. "You're more than welcome to use it at any time, but hopefully you won't mind sharing." He smiled. "Do you want a tour?"

Draco shook his head.

"Alright. My room is right upstairs, second door on the right, if you ever need me," Harry said lightly. He turned to go.

"Potter," Draco said. "Wait."

Harry turned back and cocked his head to one side like a confused owl. Draco wasn't sure why, but the gesture seemed quite adorable.

"I appreciate your offering your home as a place for us to work this bonding situation out," Draco stated stiffly. "Clearly, hospitality isn't your key point and it must be very difficult for you to allow anyone into your home with such lack of social graces."

Well. It wasn't supposed to come out like that.

To Draco's immense surprise, instead of getting pissed off by the insult, Harry grinned, momentarily dazing Draco. From shock, of course, not from anything else.

"Anytime, Draco," he said, and then he was disappearing up the staircase.

.:*~*:._.:*~*:._.:*~*:._.:*~*:._.:*~*:.

The next morning, Harry was awoken by the sound of someone pounding on the door to his bedroom. He groaned, glancing at the clock – it was only seven in the morning.

"Potter!" Draco's voice reached his ears and he forced himself to sit up.

"What?" he called back, and flushed when he realised that his voice was embarrassingly groggy.

There was a pause, then, "I have a job to keep, Potter! Are you coming along, or do I have to drag your arse out of bed myself?"

Harry collapsed back onto the bed. "Not at this ungodly hour!" he said.

There was a whispered _Alohomora, _then the door burst open and Draco paced into the room as if he owned it. Harry dragged his blankets farther up his bare chest and glared at him. Draco was dressed in Muggle clothing, as he always was, and was in the same dark jeans he had been wearing the first time Harry saw him. He noticed that they hugged his legs almost perfectly – did the idiot have them tailored or something? He also found that he quite liked the light blue, long-sleeved shirt Draco had on – it was a good change from his usual black and made his eyes stand out a lot more than usual. Harry's eyes trailed over him one more time before he came to his senses. What was he doing?

Must be the drowsiness. "This is an invasion of privacy," Harry muttered. "You can't just barge in to my room like this. What if I was naked?"

"Then I suppose I would have attempted to enjoy the view," said Draco nonchalantly, crossing his arms. "Now, are you going to get dressed or not?"

"Why do I have to go with you?" Harry groaned. "Can't I just come in later as usual?"

Draco stared at him as if he had lost his mind. "After spending an entire night in the same vicinity, you think separation for any reason would be a good idea? Do you know nothing about Bonds?"

"Not really," Harry admitted. "Is the Bond really that powerful, though? I mean, I know it's strong, but –"

Draco cut him off there. "The Bond is not strong."

"Now you're making no sense," Harry sighed. "You just said –"

"I know what I said," Draco said snippily. "But you seem to be unable to grasp my point. A strong Bond would result in both parties feeling extremely compelled by it. I am not."

"What do you mean, you're not?" Harry questioned, not sure if he liked where this was going.

"I feel what you do, yes, and being in your presence sooths me, but I do not feel compelled to be near you," Draco replied coolly.

"You've got to be kidding me," Harry moaned.

"It's a fact," Draco stated stubbornly.

"Then why can't you go to work yourself?" Harry snapped, annoyed.

"Because this type of Bond is the type that forces us together – weren't you paying attention to Granger's explanations?" Draco sighed, shaking his head. "If we part ways now, we will be reversing how close we have been over the night. Staying in the same house seems to be all this Bond requires, but separating now would cause the need to be in each others' vicinity to increase."

"But you wouldn't feel that?" Harry guessed, frustrated by Draco's denial.

"Not to the extent that you might," Draco responded. "The point is, now that we've gotten ourselves into remarkably close proximity, backing out would be immensely difficult."

"You should've told me this before we moved in," Harry groaned.

"I didn't think of it until yesterday night," replied Draco. "I left the house for a short while to check if my theory was accurate. It was."

Harry looked at him carefully, then remembered that he had experienced a particularly disturbing dream sometime yesterday night. Maybe that had been the time Draco walked out. "You didn't get much sleep, did you?"

"It hardly matters!" Draco snapped. "Are you coming to work with me or not?"

"Fine!" Harry said, throwing the covers off, temporarily forgetting that he was naked from the waist up. When he remembered, he flushed a little and turned away. "Are you going to stand there all day?" he snapped.

There was the sound of footsteps, then the door closed. Harry, still slightly red, tried not to think of the fact that he had almost found Draco attractive. Maybe he was so used to bad sleep that getting good rest drugged him the way morphine did.

But, he realised, he didn't feel quite so empty any more.

.:*~*:._.:*~*:._.:*~*:._.:*~*:._.:*~*:.

Draco leaned against the wall in the hallway leading to the door. He hadn't eaten yet, but he didn't feel comfortable enough to go rummaging around in search of the kitchen. Maybe he should have accepted Harry's offer of a tour after all. At the moment, though, Draco barely noticed his hunger – he was too occupied thinking more deeply about this Bond. It _was_ actually quite strong, whatever he let Harry think. He just didn't want Harry to know how dependant he was on him, which is why he made Harry believe that it didn't affect him. In truth, the need to keep Harry in his immediate vicinity was rather dire on his side – he was afraid that he might need the prick more than he was needed.

It didn't help that he, a gay man who had been on a sex drive for a month, had seen Harry half-naked this morning. How was he supposed to know that the arse slept without a shirt on?

There was one thing he noticed about Harry – gone was the scrawny, nimble Seeker he remembered from schooling days. In his place, instead, was this broad-shouldered, well-muscled, tanned man who he realised was just about his type. Draco had always gone for similar men when searching for conquests, and the extreme similarities were not lost on him. The only physical difference between Harry and those random men – aside from the wizardry – was his eyes. Draco hadn't seen that shade of green anywhere while he was on the prowl, not on anyone at all. Unfortunately, he found it quite attractive.

Which brought Draco to the next thing he was pondering. What if Granger had been wrong about the type of Bond this was? What if the Bond's purpose was to do more than just get them together in the same room? Was this growing attraction in the pit of his stomach a side-effect, or main purpose of the Bond? So many questions, and he didn't have an answer to any of them.

He forced himself to stop thinking about it and his eyes wandered around the narrow hall, alighting on the black square of moth-eaten velvet curtain. He'd never been one to pry, especially since old Wizarding houses tended to have many dark secrets, but he was honestly curious about what was hidden here. Reaching out, he grabbed a corner of the curtain and tugged.

"_Half-breeds, filth, scum! By-products of dirt and vileness!"_

Draco's eyes widened in horror as a picture of an old woman in a black cap screamed at him and he took several steps back. The painting was one of the most realistic, hideous and unpleasant ones he had ever seen, but he immediately recognised his Grand-aunt Walburga. She was drooling and her eyes rolling maniacally, and Draco pressed his back against the wall, not sure what to do. All of a sudden, the other portraits along the wall began to scream too. Draco drew his wand. "_Silencio_!" he shouted, but that amounted to visibly nothing.

Grand-aunt Walburga noticed him then and yelled, "_You! Blood traitor, abomination! How dare you contaminate the house of my fathers! You betrayed your own –"_

But before Draco could hear what he had betrayed, Harry came dashing down the stairs in a pair of faded jeans and a red shirt that was only half-buttoned. Did the man derive pleasure from showing off his chest?

Walburga Black turned her popping eyes on Harry. "_Yooooooou! Undeserving half-blood wretch –"_

Harry grabbed the curtains in his hands and attempted to wrench them shut. Draco rushed forward to help, and together they wrestled the black fabric back over the portrait. The hall fell silent.

"Sorry about that," Harry grimaced. "Permanent Sticking Charm's got her stuck there forever. Believe me, I've tried getting it off."

Before Draco could ask questions, a small house elf came bustling into the room. "Kreacher heard Mistress screaming," it said.

Draco's eyes widened again. This gave him a queer sense of déjà vu – seeing the same house elf who he had avoided like the plague as a child due to its terrifying grumpiness. When it saw him, however, it sunk into a low bow. "Master Malfoy," he said respectfully.

"Hello, Kreacher," Draco replied quietly.

Kreacher turned to Harry. "Kreacher has prepared pancakes," he said. "Kreacher didn't know Master Potter had..." He trailed off, turned to Draco, and looked back at Harry again. "...guests."

"No matter," Harry smiled, buttoning up the remainder of his shirt. "Thanks, Kreacher."

Kreacher turned and shuffled off.

"Well?" Harry smiled. "Wouldn't you like some breakfast?"

Draco glanced at the clock on the wall. It was seven-thirty. "I'm running late."

"We're Apparating anyway," Harry said. "Come on, now." For the second time, Harry grabbed Draco's arm and pulled him along. This time, Draco didn't pull away so quickly, allowing the warmth in Harry's grasp to travel along his skin before gently removing himself from it.

Harry led him down a narrow stone staircase and into the basement below, where Draco found himself in a rather large kitchen. There was a huge heap of pancakes laid out on the table. Harry _Accio_ed a pair of plates for them and started to help himself.

Draco cut up a piece and took a bite. It was quite nice, but Draco was certain he could make better ones than this. Harry didn't seem to mind – that tongue had not been trained to fine dining. Draco was hungry, though, and ate a fair share, not even stopping to comment when the aforementioned tongue licked at a drop of maple syrup in a fairly rude manner that would have earned Draco a sharp talking to had he done it at the Manor.

Unfortunately, thoughts of Harry's tongue were starting to trail somewhere he didn't want to go.

Draco stood up abruptly. "It's nearing eight o'clock. I cannot afford to be late," he said stiffly. "You either come with me, or I leave you to drown in that unhealthy syrup."

"You're such a killjoy," Harry muttered, but he got up as well.

"Ready?" Draco asked, trying to look annoyed that Harry took so long to pull his damn coat on.

"Ready," Harry replied with a small smile.

As Draco focused on the apothecary, he found himself thinking that whatever this was, at least he didn't feel so empty anymore.

.:*~*:._.:*~*:._.:*~*:._.:*~*:._.:*~*:.

Later that evening, Harry managed to convince Draco to take a tour of the house. He showed Draco the dining hall, the rest of the basement (mainly the pantry and the boiler where Kreacher lived), then up to the room where Buckbeak used to stay, then Sirius and Regulus' old rooms, which he hadn't touched or altered in any way (so yes, Sirius' room was still plastered with pictures of motorcycles and Muggle girls, although due to the Permanent Sticking Charms on them, he probably couldn't take them down if he tried). He even showed him the attic (where he tripped on the winding steps and had red ears when Draco teased him about it), which was neat but dusty after being cleaned out several months ago.

They were just about finished when Draco said, "You don't have any Muggle devices here."

"No," Harry agreed.

"Not even a telephone," Draco noted.

"No," Harry repeated, not sure where this was going.

"Even your camera is a Wizarding one," Draco went on, noticing the old object lying on its side on the dining table.

"Yes," Harry replied slowly.

"Why? Weren't you raised by Muggles?" Draco inquired, cocking an eyebrow in a way that was almost half-seductive. Not that Harry thought about things like that.

"I was," Harry confirmed.

Draco looked slightly puzzled. "Then why...?"

"Muggle appliances do the exact opposite of what they were made for," Harry said quietly.

"I'm afraid I don't quite follow," Draco responded.

Harry sighed. "A telephone, for example," he began, "was invented for the sake of communication, but now is simply a powerful means of not speaking to another person."

"I don't comprehend your logic," Draco said truthfully, not taking his eyes off of Harry.

"It's become the only way you can be contactable," Harry replied. "So you switch it off, or ignore the persistent rings. Then what happens? You never communicate."

Draco's eyes lit up slightly, as Harry had begun to notice they did when engaging in an interesting conversation. "That's more intelligence than I believed you to be capable of, Potter," he smirked. "In fact, it's more than most can hope to acquire. But what you're concluding can be applied to more than just Muggle appliances. It's the same with many Wizarding devices, as well."

Harry sat down and asked, "Such as?"

Draco gestured to the camera. "Your camera was made to take pictures of actual things going on, wasn't it?" he said. "But it's no longer a means used to truly see the world – it's a box to hide behind, that takes images that are manipulated and edited to be seen as you want them to be seen." He paused, looking triumphant at having made his point. "The problem isn't in devices, Potter. It's in people."

Harry smiled. "That's true. I never thought about that." He stretched, unknowingly revealing a thin sliver of skin on his stomach, then realising it and putting his arms down again. "I'm going to turn in. Try to get some sleep tonight, eh?"

Draco nodded silently. Harry wasn't sure if he would listen.

"Goodnight, Draco," he said, and without waiting for a reply, he left the room.

.:*~*:._.:*~*:._.:*~*:._.:*~*:._.:*~*:.

Draco stared after Harry as he left the dining area. "Goodnight, Potter," he said softly, knowing Harry couldn't hear him. He wondered about their conversation. Harry didn't want Muggle objects, and Draco had become used to living among them. Things couldn't have been more ironic if they tried.

What Draco didn't understand was why he had underestimated Harry so much. Truthfully, he had never considered Harry lacking in intelligence despite the jibes he dealt, but he never expected Harry to think of things like that. Perhaps it was a side to him that only few were privileged enough to encounter.

Draco also couldn't figure out why he had found this newly discovered trait...attractive. He found himself immensely fascinated by what other ideas Harry carried about the world in his head. Even worse, he was fascinated by the toned stomach, and for a few potentially disastrous moments, had felt the urge to touch the tanned skin there.

Draco took a deep, shaky breath. Things weren't going well with this Bond. Sure, the emptiness had receded, though it still lay somewhere there, an ache underneath his flesh. But this new attraction was an aspect to the Bond he hadn't anticipated. He needed to find a way out of this before he did something to the very-straight Golden Boy that he would regret.

* * *

_A new chapter will be uploaded next Friday or Saturday._

_Thanks to everyone who has followed, favourited and reviewed thus far!_

_Reviews are much appreciated. :)_


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